Voldemort's Failsafe
by FalconLux
Summary: TOMIONE! When Hermione is captured at Malfoy Manor, she does not escape with the boys. What happens when Voldemort arrives? What happens if he finds something unexpected in Hermione? This will be a time-travel fic. Eventually. Rated M for a reason. Torture, murder, sexual themes, other adult themes, adult language. All the good stuff!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Okay, warnings and stuff. Sexualesque content but nothing graphic and no one actually takes their clothes off. Yeah, figure that one out. I have more in mind for this, but I'll wait on your feedback to decide if I'm going to continue it or not.

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Panting harshly while my body twitched involuntarily from the Cruciatus, I looked up into glowing red eyes and thought. _This is it. This is how I die. Merciful Gods, please let it be quick_. Maybe if I insulted him or something, he'd get angry enough to just kill me instead of playing with me or giving me to his minions to play with some more.

I was so glad that Harry and Ron had escaped. They'd tried to save me. They'd nearly succeeded, but I was so glad that they were gone. It was too late now. Voldemort was here. They couldn't beat him. Not today. Definitely not like this.

Voldemort inspected Bellatrix's "artwork" on my arm and his serpentine lips curled up. "Leave us," he said conversationally. There was a beat of silence and then the Death Eaters in the room were falling all over each other to get out.

When the door closed behind the last of them, I felt sickly certain that he had something terribly special planned for me. "Just fucking kill me!" I growled furiously at him.

His head tilted slightly to the side, and the look in his eyes… What was that? Curiosity?

_No! No._ I had to press him. I had to make him end it. _Fuck, I am so scared. _Tears stung my already aching eyes. _I'm not ready to die. Please, shit- No. I'm already dead. I AM ALREADY DEAD! The only question is how much it will hurt. Make him angry. Push him._

I opened my mouth, and he interrupted.

"I wouldn't advise it," he said without inflection.

I froze. My whole body seized in sudden terror and I clenched my eyes shut. _Fuck, he's reading my mind. Shit. No. This can't be happening. I can't betray them. Maybe I could kill myself. Maybe I could smash my head on the floor, or throw myself into the mirror and… No, he'd stop me before I could get any glass. I don't think he can use healing magic though, so if I can wound myself badly enough-_

"Enough," he sounded exasperated. "I will not be giving you the chance to kill yourself. And, no, I don't need your eyes to get into your mind."

_Fuck!_ I let my eyes come open, but I couldn't see past the tears clouding my vision. "What are you going to do with me?" I asked numbly. I was out of options. I'd never felt so completely, awfully helpless before. This was even worse than with Bellatrix. At least when she'd had me there had been some small chance. I just wanted to die and I couldn't even do that.

"I haven't decided yet," he muttered thoughtfully, sweeping around me with a grand swish of his robes as he sat in one of the chairs, his very presence making it a throne. "I don't think I'll kill you just yet. There are too many ways in which you could be useful to me. Many of my enemies are quite fond of you, are they not?"

"Most of them find me rather annoying, I think," I admitted. Somehow, the fact that I was completely out of options had empowered me as nothing else possibly could have. I didn't need bravery anymore. I was dead no matter what, and nothing I did was going to change that.

The hint of a smile touched those thin lips once more. "It is a pity you're a mudblood," he noted carelessly. "I would enjoy corrupting you, I think, but I would probably have to kill half my Death Eaters just to prove to the rest that I hadn't gone soft…" He made murdering half of his loyal followers sound like nothing more than an annoyance. "Unfortunately, Dumbledore's pathetic Order has been killing them off fast enough without my help. No matter. They'll be dealt with soon enough. Not soon enough for you though…"

I didn't let myself think. He was baiting me to think about things. I couldn't think.

"Such promise…" he muttered. Then, "I wonder…"

I couldn't help but flinch when I noticed that he was standing over me again. _Merlin, this man scares the crap out of me! _Even with the certainty that death was the most I could hope for, this man – this _creature _– managed to terrify me with his very proximity.

If he heard that thought, he didn't react. He stooped next to me and I suddenly found that I could not look away from his eyes even though they were on my chest rather than my face. His hand moved to hover over my breast, and then he lowered it terribly slowly until he was touching me.

I flinched but was too weak to try to crawl away from him. I wondered if I was bleeding to death. That would be great. I just wished that I'd get on with it already.

For one terrible moment, I feared that his touch was meant to be sexual as his hand settled between my breasts, but then I felt it. It was… It was icy cold and fiery hot. It was… It was so terribly _heavy_. I couldn't breathe. But no, I was breathing – gasping. The air tasted stale. Wrong. Unfulfilling. Was he smothering me? Was this torture or was he going to kill me? It was the former that I feared.

_It hurts. Oh Gods, it hurts! _I felt like it was consuming me from within. The coldest cold that sent my entire body into uncontrolled shivers. The fiercest heat that drew sweat from every inch of my body but consumed it as quickly as it could escape. It built and built and _built_. Hotter. Colder. Stronger. Heavier. Crushing. _Please just let me die!_

He lifted his hand and my body arched upward, involuntarily following, maintaining the contact that was making me wish so badly for death.

He was smiling again, I realized in some small, detached part of my mind. Not that little smirk. It looked like a real smile. He was pleased by something. Extremely pleased.

_Perfect._ I read the word from his lips. My ears no longer seemed to be functioning. All that I could hear was the blood rushing through my ears so hard and fast that I wondered if my heart would be permanently damaged from the strain.

And then he released me, rising gracefully back to his full height. He touched his wand to the inside of his left wrist and the door burst open a moment later. Bellatrix fell to her knees, prostrating herself before him.

"Come in, Bella," he said quietly. She'd barely cleared the doors when they slammed closed behind her. After a long moment, he looked at her, his red eyes scrutinizing. "Bella, my darling," he said in what may have been his approximation of a croon. "You have long been my most loyal servant."

"Yes, my lord!" she cried like a psychopath. Which she was.

"Look at this mudblood," he entreated, gesturing toward me with one skeletal hand.

Bellatrix crept closer to him, her eyes falling to me.

I cringed beneath her gaze, but her affect was somewhat mollified by the man behind her.

"Shall I kill her for you, my lord?" Bellatrix asked hungrily.

"Not yet," he replied smoothly, sweeping up so close behind her as to nearly bring their bodies together.

Bellatrix shivered in near ecstasy in response to his proximity.

"I want you to feel something," he almost whispered into her ear before moving around her.

She swayed as he drew away from her like she was magnetically drawn to him.

He crouched at my side and I let my eyes fall closed, breathing more deeply as I prepared myself for more agony. He took her hand in one of his and directed it to rest on my chest as his had. I flinched as she touched me.

Then I felt it begin again. The heat burned me, but instead of the ice, this time I felt something different. It was sickly and slimy – somehow disgusting on a level that I had never before experienced. It felt utterly… wrong.

Ice and heat had somehow coexisted like the two opposing sides of a whole, but the heat could not exist with this.

I heard myself screaming as it grew into a terrible tempest. Then I heard another scream and my eyes focused on Bellatrix. She was screaming in agony, leaning away from me like she wanted to remove her hand but couldn't. I was hurting her.

And I smiled.

The pain became manageable as I embraced the fact that Bellatrix Lestrange was now the one being tormented. The fire grew hotter. So much hotter. It didn't hurt now. It felt… _Merlin, it feels wonderful._

That sickly, disgusting presence burned beneath the fury of the heat. The sclera of her eyes grew pink, and then intensified to the bright hue of fresh blood, and still she screamed. I wanted her to die. I wanted it so badly.

Horrible red eyes rolled back, and she finally collapsed. She fell backward, away from me, and I turned my eyes to watch her body convulse a bit longer before she became still. Too still. She did not draw breath.

My eyes snapped back to Voldemort as his hand came once more to my breast.

I felt it again. Ice and heat. It still hurt, but not so badly. It felt… different. Better. …Right.

"What did you do to me?" I gasped.

"I have made you a murderer," he smiled.

My mouth fell open. My eyes rounded. Merlin, it was true. In that moment, I understood. The heat was my magic. My… _soul. _He had touched Bellatrix's soul to mine. He had known that I would kill her. I had _wanted _to kill her. I had… _Gods, help me, I _enjoyed_ it._

Then the ice... The ice was _his _soul. The ice that somehow coexisted with my fiery heat – that seemed to _compliment _it. It was Voldemort at his most base level.

It was still there. He was still touching me. I should have been sickened by the very thought of the way that he was presently violating me. It was worse than being raped. It was much, much worse. At least rape was only physical. I feared terribly that he was going to destroy my very soul – worse, make it more like his. Why wasn't I retching? Why wasn't I crying? Screaming? _Anything?_

He leaned down over me so that his mouth was right next to my ear. "Because you _like _it," he whispered.

And then I screamed.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

My cell door opened and I cringed away from the bright light that suddenly filled the room. A shadow stepped through the light. I recognized it instantly – how could I not? He'd come every day for… I'd lost track of the number of days. A month? Two? I didn't know.

As my eyes adjusted, I found that Rodolphus was behind him, carrying the tray that held my dinner and the retinue of potions I was forced to drink every day. I stared at him with as much hatred as I'd had Bellatrix. Voldemort took some sick pleasure in making that man serve me my meals after I had killed his wife. Rodolphus used it as an opportunity to get some small justice. He'd alternated between groping and slapping me, always careful to hide the bruises. He only did it when Voldemort wasn't present of course. For whatever reason, I didn't think that Voldemort wanted me abused. Or he was waiting to do it personally when the time was right. I wasn't sure.

He placed the tray at my side and stood back, waiting for his master.

Voldemort simply stared at me for a long moment, then I saw that small smile again. "I think she's ready for pain," he said quietly and my stomach clenched with dread.

A smile slithered onto the Death Eater's face and he turned eager eyes on me. He literally licked his lips.

"I'd like to show you a new way to bring pain," Voldemort said in that inscrutable way that he had.

My breath hitched. _No. He isn't saying what I think he's saying. He can't be._ _No_.

"Come," Voldemort bade as he crouched at my side. "No, you don't need your wand for this. It is primal magic." He touched my chest lightly, his eyes meeting mine. They looked… excited. "Here. Place your hand here."

I gulped. I should say something. I should warn Rodolphus. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't get any sound out. What had Voldemort done to me? Why couldn't I speak?

That brilliant red gaze was still locked on mine. That faint smile still on his lips. It was like we had some thrilling secret that was about to be shared.

And then the heavier hand of Rodolphus Lestrange was at my breast.

"Let me make the connection," Voldemort said, and that heat surged to life like a volcano coming out of hibernation.

I felt Rodolphus in the same way I'd felt Bellatrix and Voldemort. Rodolphus felt… I couldn't even equate it to a feeling. It was gray and slimy even though it had neither color nor real physical properties.

_Don't kill him, don't kill him, don't kill him._ I chanted desperately in my mind, but then he got the hang of this "new way to bring pain" and his soul attacked mine. It grew heavier, and my soul lashed out without a conscious choice to do so. The Death Eater flinched as though from a physical blow and I felt the weight of his attack grow suddenly much heavier. I fought back instinctively, protecting myself.

The heat grew, multiplied, spread, expanded. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his eyes began to grow red. I stared into his eyes. The eyes of the man who had _touched _me. I could almost feel his agony.

I liked it.

And then he collapsed on top of me. I huffed under his sudden weight.

Voldemort flicked his wand negligently and the corpse flopped onto the floor, freeing me.

My stomach turned as my eyes met those horrible red orbs again. Lord Voldemort was pleased.

"Why?" I moaned.

"Because you are of more value to me," he replied simply.

And that summed it up for me. That was what it came down to for Voldemort. Value. To him. Life itself had no value unless it was his own or could benefit him.

"You believe that to be a failing," he noted.

There was something very wrong with the fact that his constant reading of my mind no longer unnerved me. It had become a matter of course.

"Are you trying to make me more like you?" I asked flatly.

"I already have," was his answer as he crouched again at my side and placed his hand on me. He did this every single day. I didn't even flinch at the cold, unnaturally boney hand anymore.

And then I felt him, and I tried hard not to, but I sighed. The touch of his soul had become almost necessary for me. I didn't feel whole in its absence.

"What are you doing to me?" I mumbled, my body quivering slightly at the pleasure.

"I am making you stronger," he said very quietly before his eyes drifted closed and he tilted his head back in what looked very much like… ecstasy.

His icy magic caressed mine like the touch of a lover and my breath came in short gasps of utter bliss. I knew that he was perverting my very soul, but I could no longer fight him. It felt too fucking _good_. His touch was not sexual. Never sexual. I wasn't sure if he even felt any such mundane urges anymore, but the way that his magic stroked mine felt like the most erotic thing I had ever imagined.

No, it was way more erotic than anything I'd ever imagined.

A moan slid up my throat and I became aware of moisture in my knickers. Our magic rose to a fever pitch. I fought for dominance, just as I had with Bellatrix and Rodolphus. I fought and I suspected that I may have killed him if I could have, but I could not best the icy ocean that was Lord Voldemort.

The heat was stifling, the cold was burning in its intensity. The pain was decadent. The pleasure was exquisite. I never wanted it to end.

And then I felt him withdrawing. "No!" I cried, leaning into him, trying to hold the contact. My magic surged higher, stronger than it ever had, trying to keep him from escaping me.

There was a moment of hesitation, and then his hand came back down hard and he met my magic with a wave of his own that matched mine in strength and intensity.

I cried out as pure ecstasy filled me, consumed me, rent me to pieces and forged me anew. For a long time, I seemed to drift upon the icy ocean, the heat of my body supporting me on a cloud of steam where we met. Slowly, so slowly, I returned to a body numbed by pleasure. My eyes cracked open to settle on a pair of fiery red eyes that burned into mine.

"Utterly perfect," he whispered, those almost-not-there lips curled again.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I breathed, still lavishing the tingles of pleasure that yet curled in my middle. "What are you planning?"

"I never take anything for granted," he said quietly, his wand emerging from his sleeve. He tapped it against his left palm absently. "You, Hermione, are my _deficiat tutum_. My failsafe."

I opened my mouth to say something more, but then I realized that he'd called me Hermione. He'd never done that before. It had always been mudblood or something just as degrading.

I looked into his eyes and I realized that something had changed tonight. It wasn't the climax that I had finally reached. That didn't matter to Voldemort. It was the way I'd gone after him. The way I'd held onto him, my magic to his. My _soul _to his. Why did that matter to him?

"You will see," he said simply, lifting his wand to point at me. "_Imperio_," he said quietly and warmth filled my already foggy mind. "Eat," he ordered, gesturing toward the tray next to me.

I began to eat. The food was always good, but I had resisted in the beginning. I'd tried to starve myself to death. That had lasted less than a full day before Voldemort's Imperius curse had foiled my plans. I'd stopped trying to fight it. There was no point. No one could defeat Lord Voldemort's Imperius.

But… Well, I wasn't just anyone, was I?

I looked up at him and saw that his eyes had narrowed speculatively.

No, if I was "just anyone" he would have killed me a long time ago. There was something that he considered special or at least unique about me. Something that made me his definition of "perfect" for whatever cause he had in mind. I wondered… I had done something tonight that I wouldn't have thought was possible. I hadn't overcome him, I was sure, but I had held on when he'd meant to retreat. If only for a moment. I'd surprised him.

I worked to focus my mind through his Imperius, but then I realized that I'd already overcome it. Or… had he released me? No. No, he hadn't. I'd just defeated his Imperius with hardly an effort. I wasn't that strong, but… He was making me stronger. And our very souls had somehow become attuned…

"I could still kill you quite easily," he noted thoughtfully.

I nodded. I didn't question that for a moment. This man had been killing for more than fifty years, and he'd _always_ been exceptional at it from what I'd heard. Yes, he could kill me. But he wouldn't. He hadn't spent the last month grooming me for… whatever it was, to just kill me now. No, he'd wanted me this way.

And then I saw it in his eyes. Satisfaction. This is exactly what he'd wanted. What he'd been waiting for.

I swallowed my last bit of food and dropped the flimsy spoon. "What happens now?" I wondered. I was way beyond fearing for myself. I'd accepted that my life had become his. I wouldn't serve him if I could possibly help it, but beyond that, I was his. His to torture, his to pleasure, his to… to feed his Death Eaters to, evidently.

"Now we progress to your education," he said simply, and I felt him enter my mind. I was so glad that Dumbledore had never told us his ultimate plans. There was only so much that Voldemort could learn from my mind – and he'd already scoured it completely. Since Harry did not seem to have been killed yet – I was sure I'd have heard the party upstairs – that must have meant that I didn't know enough to have led Voldemort to him. Harry had adapted. He was still fighting.

"Do you really still wish me dead?"

I blinked as I realized that I was suddenly standing on a grassy hill next to an old, lonely tree. I turned toward the unfamiliar voice and found myself looking at Tom Riddle when he'd been about my age.

I stumbled back, shocked. _Voldemort did this with his mind? He brought me here? Why is he conversing with me in the body of his younger self?_

Tom Riddle chuckled.

_He has a nice laugh_. _I didn't expect that. And Gods, I don't remember him being that attractive. _I'd seen Harry's memory of Tom Riddle from the diary, but… Maybe it was because I'd been looking through Harry's memory, but I did not think he'd been so… handsome.

"Do you still wish me dead?" he asked again.

Of course I still wished him dead! How could I not? So many people were dead because of him – at his hand or that of his Death Eaters. So many more would die, surely already had since I'd been here.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and suddenly realized that he was standing right behind me. I flinched but withheld my scream. _Fuck, this is creepy_.

He pressed himself against my back and I felt his hand slither up my stomach to rest between my breasts. It was utterly wrong how much I had come to enjoy that feeling. Utterly. Wrong.

But then I felt his magic licking out to touch mine and I forgot why it was wrong. "If I was dead, you'd never feel this again," he whispered, warm breath caressing my neck.

I shivered, my heart clenching painfully at the thought of never again feeling him touch me in this way. _But. No. That isn't right. He needs to die. He absolutely fucking _has_ to die. He is evil. He is the _embodiment_ of fucking evil!_

"Part of you likes it," he said in a hiss that was sinfully arousing.

I found my traitorous body leaning back to press more firmly against his. "What have you done to me?" I breathed shakily.

"The need you feel is your own, Hermione," he replied, his voice caressing my name sensuously.

His voice was deeper now. It was… _Gods help me, it's fucking beautiful._

"Your soul craves mine. Never will you be whole without it."

_I don't care, I don't care, I don't care! I'll die as well if that's what it takes!_

"That is exactly what it would take," he crooned, his lips brushing my ear and causing me to shiver again. It was distressingly enjoyable.

"What do you mean?" I managed to murmur. _Merlin, it's difficult to focus when he's doing that!_

"You are bound to me now. If I die… You die."

"And if I die?"

"Then you die," he laughed quietly.

_That's what I thought. Shit._ "It won't stop Harry from killing you," I promised. And I believed it. He may hate himself for the rest of his life knowing that he'd killed me, but he would do it.

"Oh, I've no doubt the boy would try," he replied easily.

_So that clearly isn't his plan. But then why does he need me? Why bond me to him?_ "How am I your failsafe? What is the point of this?"

"So curious. You remind me of myself as a boy," he said quietly and I felt his magic pressing more firmly against mine. I automatically pushed back and it became difficult to breathe. But in a really good way. Well, if anything about this situation could be considered "good".

"You're not going to tell me," I said breathlessly.

"No. Not today. You will know when you need to know." He sounded a little breathless too. I shouldn't enjoy the knowledge that I had done that to him. It should in no way make me happy to know that Lord Fucking Voldemort was getting pleasure from me. No, it shouldn't.

But it did.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Voldemort dismissed Draco as soon as he'd delivered my food, and I breathed a sigh of relief, as I did every day. Ever since Draco had replaced Rodolphus in bringing my meals, I had been terrified that he planned for me to kill Draco next. But Draco never put a hand on me whether he was supervised or not. He never even looked at me. I wasn't sure that I would actually kill him. Then again, it may be kill-or-be-killed if he attacked me. I was virtually certain that I wouldn't allow myself to die.

That was wrong. I had wanted to die when I'd first come here. By all that was right and logical, I should _still _want to die. Maybe even more than I had. Granted, I was no longer subjected to torture, and any secrets in my head had long since been taken, but I lived in this little fucking cell. There were no books. No form of entertainment at all except when Voldemort came to see me each night.

I'd been keeping myself sane one hour at a time. I slept as much as I could – just to pass the time. I paced circles around the room, counting off my steps. I'd counted all the bricks in the walls several times – by touch as the room was blackest black when I was alone. Sometimes I recited books from memory. There were a few, such as _Hogwarts: A History_, that I knew well enough. Other times, I dreamed up arithmantic equations and played with them in my mind – they were much more challenging when I couldn't work through them on parchment.

I did not know how long I had been here. Maybe four months. Maybe half a year. Maybe even more. Aside from the occasional raised voices drifting down from above, nothing ever changed. Including Voldemort's nightly visits. The content of those visits changed though, to an extent. It was the most interesting part of my life. I sometimes wondered if that was why he kept me so deprived the rest of the time. Just to make me look forward to seeing him. Or maybe he just didn't care about my comfort. I had a suspicion that I'd look forward to seeing him even if I was able to spend my days back at Hogwarts with Ron and Harry like old times.

"Good evening, pet," he said quietly.

"Good evening," I responded automatically.

He crouched in front of me, looked into my eyes, and we were on the hilltop again. He always brought us to the hilltop. I didn't know why. He never told me anything that he didn't want to.

"We're going to try something different today, pet," said young Tom Riddle. He was always Tom Riddle in my mind. I didn't know why he did that either.

I turned to face him and he smiled at me. It was so wrong that someone as completely evil as him should be so astonishingly beautiful. Absolutely wrong. Of course, he wasn't beautiful anymore. But he had been.

He looked at me thoughtfully while all of that ran through my head. Of course, he heard it as clearly as if I'd spoken aloud. He was in my mind, after all.

"You wish to know why I look like this," he said quietly, taking my hands and pulling me to him so that we were mere inches apart. "I did not do this, Hermione. You are the one who determines how I appear here."

My jaw dropped. How was that possible? I couldn't have done this. I _couldn't_ have! I'd only seen him through Harry's memory, and he hadn't looked like this – not _really_.

"But now you see me through my memory," he pointed out.

So maybe he wasn't this beautiful. Maybe he just saw himself that way.

He chuckled. "Believe what you like, pet. Now, on to today's lesson." He lifted my right hand to rest against the center of his chest.

My breath hitched. _No. This isn't right. He's not going to… Why would he…? He always initiates our contact. He always controls it. Why would he…?_

"So curious," he smirked. "You will know when you are meant to know."

Of course. He always said that.

He spread my palm flat against his chest, his hand pressed over it. It didn't feel cold like I knew that it really was, and it didn't feel boney. It felt… really nice.

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked warily.

"Touch me," he said seductively.

He did not mean physically. I looked into his eyes and I tried to do as he said. I knew what it felt like. I'd felt it many, many times. I should be able to reproduce it. _His eyes are beautiful_. My distractible mind noted. At a distance, they looked black, but this close, they were brown. Like dark chocolate. Rich, and sinfully dark, but not black. Beautiful.

It was such a shame that he lost that. That he lost all of this beauty. He was like a gift to the world in all his dark glory. A gift he'd squandered.

I knew that he was listening to my every thought, but he didn't comment. Even on that last. I could see in his eyes that he'd heard it. They'd gone from smug to thoughtful.

There was so much more to this man than anyone else knew. So very much more. Dumbledore had liked to say that Voldemort was mad. Among the Order, "madman" was a favorite nickname for him. But he was not mad. Not at all. I actually suspected that he allowed himself to be perceived that way intentionally. To make others underestimate him. I had seen more of this man that anyone else alive, I was certain. I had felt his very soul, and it was not sickly like Bellatrix's soul. It wasn't even slimy like Rodolphus's soul. It wasn't pretty, but it wasn't vile either. It was…

It was icy, unforgiving, merciless _power_. What else there was to him… The sadist, obviously. The man who valued ambition above all. He was the _embodiment_ of ambition. He would go to any lengths to meet his ends. Most of his worst qualities were due to his childhood in that foul orphanage. Due to discovering that his mother was a rapist and his father an entitled imbecile with not the slightest redeeming grace beyond his appearance and his inheritance, the former of which he'd given to his unwanted son.

His dark chocolate eyes were practically smoldering now, but he did not interrupt my thoughts. I wondered why. Wasn't I supposed to be doing something? Oh, right. I was supposed to be "touching" him.

No, Lord Voldemort – Tom Riddle – was not mad at all. He was absolutely brilliant. He only "hated" mudbloods because it had garnered him followers. I understood now that it was a part of his dogma that would be phased out if he succeeded in taking over the wizarding world. He couldn't care less about blood status. He had a rather significant hatred of muggles, but not their wizarding offspring. It had taken me many days to wrap my head around that, but I understood it now. He'd taken pains to make that clear to me even while the hateful word remained permanently seared into my flesh from Bellatrix's cursed blade.

He'd shown me so many things these last months, made me believe so many things, I sometimes wondered if he hadn't tampered with my mind. But he hadn't. He hadn't _forced _me to believe anything. He'd _convinced_ me. He'd shown me memory after memory. His memories. Some were disturbing. He'd shown me times in his childhood when he'd tortured other children at the orphanage. Sometimes he'd made them forget and others they'd simply been too terrified to ever say anything. He'd shown me when he killed his father. He'd shown me why he'd done it. What that hateful man had said to him. Which was why I was convinced that there was no way he got any of his intelligence from that man.

He'd shown me other memories though. Memories of being ridiculed and ostracized, and generally humiliated by the other children at the orphanage before he got the hang of his instinctive magic – which was astonishingly impressive. Some of the things he'd shown me were so debasing and embarrassing, that I was convinced he'd have killed anyone else who garnered the smallest detail of such things.

I still didn't understand why. Why was it so important to him that I believe these things? Not just think, but _believe_. Why did he want me to see them at all? Despite literally hundreds of hours alone with my thoughts, that was a question that I couldn't begin to answer.

"You're becoming distracted, pet," he whispered.

I blinked at him. _Right. I am. Okay._ How did I touch him the way that he touched me? I remembered how I reached for him when he tried to withdraw. It had happened many times since that first. I was pretty sure that he did it just to test me – to _push _me. I couldn't fault him for it. It _worked _after all. Once he touched me, losing that contact was agony. It felt like my very soul was being ripped in half. I had no trouble believing that I would die if he did. None at all.

I let my eyes drift closed and reached within myself, to my heart that pulsed in rhythm with his. Beyond it, to the very core of my being. To the part that ached for him even while I was wishing him dead. The part of me that was relieved that I would die if he did because life could not be worth living in a world that he was not a part of.

My eyes flew open and I stared at him. "Have you made me into a Horcrux?" I asked fearfully.

And he laughed. It was deep and rich, and… a little off. The true humor behind it was tainted by the terminal bitterness and disdain that he held for the world in general. I didn't think he was capable of feeling happiness anymore. Excitement, yes. Accomplishment was probably as close as he could come. But not true happiness. That made me a little sad. It shouldn't have – he certainly wasn't saddened by it – but it did.

"I have enough horcruxes, pet," he replied as his mirth fell off to just a small smile. "You are infinitely more valuable than any horcrux."

_Fuuuuck! I should NOT be so pleased to hear that. _It wasn't that I was pleased to know that he valued me so much because that would keep me alive as nothing else possibly could. No, it simply pleased me to know that _he _valued me. That he _wanted _me on some level. _Fuck, I'm turning into Bellatrix!_

"Never that, pet," he smirked. "She had her uses, but she was ultimately insane. Your sanity yet holds strong, despite isolation, darkness, constant fear, and the feelings you're developing for the man you hate most in the world."

I gulped at his mention of "feelings". It disturbed me because it was true, no matter how much I wished to deny it. It was true, and I knew that he was utterly incapable of ever having "feelings" for me. Not those kinds of feelings.

"You're right," he said thoughtfully, running one long finger lightly down the side of my face as though my reaction to his touch was a subject of study. "But I was not always incapable of such feelings. There was a time when I think I may have found you… pleasing for more than your usefulness."

I studied him intently, trying to figure out the meaning of his words.

"Enough stalling," he said, suddenly harsh.

I nodded quickly. He was becoming impatient. My next reminder would be painful. _Sadist._

He smirked.

I focused myself again, turning inward. To the part of me that yearned for him like a junkie for a fix. Yes… There it was.

I embraced it. Dove into it. Let it consume me.

Flame. Terrible, wonderful, intense flames. And I reached for him. It was as instinctive as joining my hands in the dark. My soul belonged nowhere so much as with his. And I felt him. Ice leapt to engulf me the instant that I touched it and I fought back. More intense than anything else I could imagine, our souls battled for dominance, neither gaining the upper hand. I couldn't tell if he was actually giving it his all, but I didn't expect that he was.

I knew now that I wouldn't kill him if I got the chance. I _should, _but there wasn't any point in lying to _myself_. There was no way that I could ever lay the killing blow against him personally. No way at all. Of course, I didn't expect that I'd ever be in a position to actually have that chance.

Such considerations drifted away as the pleasure of his contact intensified, overpowered my senses. My very mind. Heat and cold. Fire and ice. Pain and pleasure. Voldemort and I were utter opposites in most respects, but, like fire and ice – both of which could burn when severe enough – we had similarities. Intelligence, ambition, passion, the need to rise above the expectations of others… Even to this day he felt that in a distant sort of way. He'd never fully recovered from that hated little boy that didn't fit in at that vile boy's home.

I moaned in ecstasy and I fought to make my fire hotter and the ice burned increasingly frigid in response. My hand remained on his chest and the rest of my body sagged forward until my hand was trapped between our bodies, my head tucked under his chin.

His breathing was ragged, his heart racing beneath my fingers.

I waited for him to pull away, but he didn't this time. Instead he pushed harder. The weight grew. The pain intensified. I cried out, unsure if it was in pain or pleasure. I pushed back. I threw myself against him. The pain and weight receded, and I heard him groan. It was an animalistic sound that I had never heard from him before. It spurred me on as nothing else could have.

My whole body trembled. I was right at the edge.

He pushed just a bit harder and I slammed myself against him once more.

And then something purely astonishing happened. For just an instant, I gained control. It felt like…

_There are no words!_ Fire engulfed ice. The entire world seemed to turn to steam. Everything. Reality. Magic. Life. Death. _Everything_ that there was or ever had been simply ceased to exist. The sense of raw _power _that enveloped me was the most sublime high I had ever known.

I screamed in ecstasy. Agony. Wonder.

When I opened my eyes again, I realized that I must have actually fainted. I was lying on my back on that hill, staring up at that old, lonely tree. Voldemort wasn't there.

I pulled myself up and looked around for him. That's when I realized that something was different. There was a small cottage on the next hill over that had never seen there before.

I turned slowly in a circle, searching for him. Where…?

Then I spotted him. He was standing near the cottage. I approached slowly, wondering if I had upset him terribly by gaining control. Would he kill me for it? He'd said that I was extremely valuable, but if he thought there was the slimmest chance that I might be a threat, I was certain that would eclipse my value instantly.

Was I a threat though? Even if I could kill him, I wouldn't. I _couldn't_. Not ever.

I stopped when I neared him, looking curiously at the wand he was pointing at me. I lifted my eyes to his. Those beautiful eyes…

But the look in them now was… unexpected. He looked… wary? Of me? Surely he knew better than to think I was a threat.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

I blinked slowly, struggling to understand what he was doing. Had he put me into some kind of memory? A memory that I could interact with?

"Answer me!" he snarled.

"I'm Hermione Granger," I said uncertainly.

"That name means nothing to me," he snapped. "What are you doing here?"

My mouth fell open. _No. This isn't possible. It's a trick. It has to be a trick._

"Tom?" I said hesitantly.

His eyes narrowed, "You know who I am?"

_Oh holy mother of fuck_. I cleared my throat uneasily. "You, um… You _don't _know who I am?"

"How would I?" he asked disdainfully. He was looking at me like he suspected that I was insane.

But Voldemort _knew _that I was perfectly sane. He'd just told me so.

I looked down at myself. My clothes. In my mind – or his, I was never really sure – I was always wearing the clothes I'd been wearing that day I was captured. Now I was wearing the shapeless little dress that looked like it had been enlarged from a house elf frock. The only thing they'd ever given me to wear in my cell. It was fairly clean, since Voldemort didn't like for me to be filthy, but that was as much as could be said for it. And in my hand… It was my wand. Gods, I hadn't seen that since the day I'd been captured.

If I was wearing this… If I had my wand… I was no longer in my mind or his. I was _really _here. I was… It didn't seem possible, but the proof seemed to be pointing a very familiar wand at me.

I gulped around my heart, which seemed to have worked its way into my throat. "What, ah… What year is it?" I asked, my voice hardly more than a whisper.

He frowned at me. "It's 1944."

Had he meant to send me here? Had I somehow done this when I'd taken control? Time travel was incredibly complex. It couldn't be done by _accident _unless perhaps one was experimenting with time travel intentionally. I hadn't been. How…?

And then it started to line up. So many little hints that he'd let drop.

_"There was a time when I think I may have found you… pleasing for more than your usefulness." _

_"You remind me of myself as a boy."_

_"You will know when you are meant to know."_

It would explain why he'd been so adamant about making me believe him. Because he couldn't control me now. Not here. Not as he could there.

I was his failsafe. His _deficiat tutum. _He was sending me back to help his younger self. To ensure that the future turned out the way he wanted it.

A laugh bubbled up my throat, almost hysterical even to my own ears. It grew on itself until it echoed across the hills and bounced off the cottage. I would know when I needed to know. I didn't know if I should consider this fate mercy or the worst sort of torment.

I laughed until my knees gave out and my stomach ached. Lord Voldemort was right. We would never defeat him.

* * *

**Okay. There it is. My first Tomione. So, do I continue? Or should I quit while I'm ahead? I'd say to be honest, but please try not to damage my delicate sense of self. Other than that, let me know your thoughts.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **First off, THANK YOU! I greatly appreciate all of the lovely, lovely reviews. It took me quite a while to figure out how to proceed with this chapter. I may not have done it at all if not for so many reviews asking (some demanding) that I continue the story. I definitely wouldn't have done it so quickly. So thank you all very much, and I do hope this lives up to your high expectations.

**Content Warning: **Okay, as we're moving on with the story, another notation about warnings seems appropriate. Please mind the M rating. This story is not for kids. From this point on, there will be **LEMONS**. At least a few, likely more. You can also expect **torture**, likely more **murder**, possibly **rape** at some point. And a little dollop of fluff from time to time, just to keep things interesting. It will not be all dark and angst, and will probably lighten a bit as we go with some unavoidable darker shadows here and there.

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, I clearly am not JK. Harry Potter, universe, characters, etc. all belong to that lucky, lucky lady. The only thing I can claim credit for is the manner in which I have arranged the plot.

**In This Chapter:** Tom and Hermione get to know each other. Not much action, but a vital conversation (and some other bits). Enjoy!

* * *

Tom riddle was now looking at me as though he was convinced that I was insane.

"Shut up!" he snapped.

I quieted almost instinctively. I was used to doing as he told me.

His eyes narrowed. "Where did you come from?"

He already knew that, or he had to be fairly close to convinced. I'd asked him what year it was, after all, and I was sure he'd noticed my shock when he'd told me. "I'm from the future," I admitted, rising back to my feet from where I'd collapsed in my helpless hilarity.

"How did you come to be here?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "I think that you sent me."

"How did-" his eyes widened. "_I _sent you? My future self?"

I nodded, "I think so."

"Why?" he asked intently. "For what purpose?"

I considered that a moment. I really had no idea whatsoever. "You didn't tell me."

His frown deepened. "What year are you from?"

"1998," I answered, then amended. "Or '99. I'm not sure."

"You don't even know when you're from?" he asked skeptically.

"I lost track of the date."

He seemed to consider that. "Fifty-five years," he muttered thoughtfully. "Who are you to me in the future?"

"I don't know," I frowned. He'd never really explained that either. He looked annoyed by my answer though, so I tried to be clearer. It was strange that he wasn't listening to my every thought. I'd become very accustomed to never actually _needing _to say anything out loud. He was the only one that had talked to me in so long. "You were… grooming me for something. For this, maybe."

"Were we… friends?" he pressed.

"You don't have any friends," I pointed out.

That seemed to be the answer he was looking for. "How was I grooming you?"

"You showed me your memories. You taught me who you really are."

"What memories?" he asked intently.

"Memories of your youth."

His eyes narrowed, lips compressed, shoulders tensed. He didn't like that idea at all. Of course those memories would all be much rawer in this time. "Be more specific," he commanded.

Wow. He really wasn't that much different. "A lot of memories from the orphanage. From before and after you learned to control your magic."

The gleam in his eyes was dangerous. "Why would I show you those things?" he asked, his voice as icy as his soul.

He'd never told me, but telling him again that I didn't know seemed a bad idea at his juncture, so I tried to find an answer for him. I tried to sift what I'd gleaned then through the filter of assuming that he'd planned to send me back all along. "I think that you were trying to make me care for you," I reasoned. He had seemed awfully pleased when he'd said that I was developing feelings for him.

"Did it work?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

I stared up into his beautiful eyes and my foolish heart pounded erratically. "Yes," I whispered, hating myself even as I said it.

A small, cruel smile curled his full lips. "Interesting… So I've sent myself back a whore with knowledge of the future." His eyes studied me and I got the sense that he was reading my reaction.

I didn't care for the "whore" part, even if I had begun to ache in hopeful anticipation.

"Are you loyal to me, whore?" he murmured seductively.

Ugh, he should have sent Bellatrix back. I tried to ignore the throbbing between my legs while I searched for an answer to his question. I was certain that he would know if I lied even if he wasn't in my mind. But _was _I loyal to him? I had been determined to avoid helping him hurt more people in my time, but that was as much rebellion as I'd had left in me. I swallowed hard, and tried to answer honestly. "I am loyal to you, but I don't agree with you hurting good people to get what you want."

His brow furrowed as he studied me. "Then why would I send you? Surely there were people more devoted." He sounded like he hoped there were.

"Many," I admitted. "I'm not sure why you chose me, except that I think you couldn't use just anyone. You called me 'perfect', but you never told me why."

He considered that. "If you disagree with my morals, why did you follow me?"

"I fought you," I admitted. "I was captured. You spared me. For this."

His brow rose, "I sent an enemy?"

"I'd never hurt you now," I said quietly, my stomach turning at the very thought.

"Because you care for me," he reasoned.

I nodded, my eyes falling to his feet.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I met his eyes without a thought and fell into darkness.

"What have you done?!" Tom's voice demanded.

I looked around in the blackest black, and realized that I knew where we were. The way the sound bounced off the walls, the smell of damp stone and dust, the slightly chilled air. We were in my cell.

"I didn't do this," I said quietly. "You were trying to read my mind, yes?"

"Yes," he snarled.

"Then I think you must have done this. Your older self, I mean. You were always in my mind." Why would he have done this? Was he preventing his younger self from searching my mind? Why? Was he afraid of how he'd react to it?

"Why would I do this?" he demanded.

"I was wondering that as well." He couldn't hear my thoughts…

I heard him huff out a breath accompanied by a sound that made me think he'd run into a wall. "Where the fucking hell are we?!" he growled.

I reached out to him in the darkness and my hand found his upper arm. I drew him toward me, away from the wall. "This is my cell," I explained.

"Your… How long did I keep you in this cell?"

"I don't know. Something like half a year, I think. You came every night."

"To 'groom' you."

"Yes."

"Did I have sex with you?" he wondered.

"No. It was so much more than that."

"Explain."

"I don't know how to," I admitted. "It was like our souls… mated." That sounded wrong, but it was the best I could come up with. How could I explain something so otherworldly?

"Are you telling me you're my soul mate?" he asked distastefully, moving away from me again. Searching for a door, maybe.

"No. But you may be mine."

"What?" he asked irritably, his voice moving along the wall.

"You said that I was bonded to you. That I would die if you did, but you wouldn't be harmed if I died."

"Well, that's a neat trick," he chuckled. It sounded like he'd reached the door, and that was confirmed a moment later when I heard the handle jiggle. My heart rate increased automatically in response to the sound. There was no creak of a door opening, so I assumed it was locked. "How the sodding hell do we get out of here?" he demanded.

A good question, I realized. I was so used to this place that it had felt almost right being here again.

"Are you listening to me?" he demanded.

"I'm thinking," I replied. "Surely you mentioned something to me that could help, I just have to remember."

"Bloody fucking hell. I really hope I didn't overestimate your intelligence."

I ignored him and tried to think.

I felt a hand close around my shoulder, but it didn't startle me. It was familiar. Too long fingers and not enough flesh, icy cold and demanding. Then I felt his cool breath against my ear. "Touch him…"

I didn't realize until the presence completely vanished that it had been odd. Was Voldemort of the future still somehow connected to my mind? Could he observe what was happening? Could he still speak to me? Or had that merely been some kind of memory that he'd left behind?

No, I realized. That had been a memory. I could remember him doing that now. He'd made me forget it until I'd gone looking for it specifically, even though I hadn't realized that I was. Damn. I wondered how many more memories he may have caused me to repress.

"I think I know what to do," I said, easily crossing the room to where I could hear him moving along the wall opposite the door. Darkness had become natural to me.

"What?" he asked warily as my fingers ran across his shoulder until I found his chest. I settled my hand over the center of his chest. "What are you doing?" he asked more sharply.

"I am touching you," I replied. "This is how we leave here."

Before he could say any more, I immersed myself in the fire of my soul and reached out to my companion. A moan slipped through my lips as his soul reacted instinctively by attacking me with a feral ferocity. I met his attack with my own and stymied his assault as I had never before been able to do. This was probably the first time he'd ever felt this.

He felt him shudder and he growled softly, his hands closing around my waist with bruising force though I couldn't tell if he meant to push me away or draw me closer. Maybe he didn't know either.

His soul was still the icy cold of a glacial river, but there was something very different. There was something that he was missing in the future. It was an energy… a virile vitality that staggered me in its potency. It was something that he must have lost after splitting his soul so many times. That energy met its counterpart in my own soul, a part of me that had never been touched, and I nearly screamed at the sensation.

He proved to be a quick leaner, his intensity rising against mine as he fisted a handful of my hair. A yelp escaped me at the combined pain and pleasure, but his mouth quickly silenced me. His tongue entered my open mouth and I moaned as raw desire filled me. I wanted him as I had never wanted anyone in my life. I felt certain that I would literally die if I didn't have him.

And then it all stopped and we were again outside that little cottage on the hill, no longer touching physically or any other way, though I was panting and aching still with need and judging by the bulge in his trousers, he was suffering similarly.

Our eyes met and there was a moment of utter stillness, the only sound, our heavy breathing. Then I blinked and it was like the moment shattered. He lunged at me and his lips crashed into mine again – or for the first time… Semantics.

The only thing that mattered was that he was kissing me and he was touching me and I'd never felt so good in my life.

I noted only dimly when he picked me up, but the feel of his bed beneath me was very nearly enough to send me into an immediate orgasm just for the implications.

He drew away from me with a muttered severing charm and I didn't understand what he was doing until he parted the front of my dress along the cut he'd just created. He drew back to look at me with a hunger in his eyes while I quivered with the need of his touch. His eyes darted finally back up to my face and he smiled fiendishly. "So many ways I could torment you now," he noted breathlessly, "but that can wait." Another quick severing charm and my knickers were tugged away.

My breath came only in brief huffs now as I was exposed as I had never been in front of a man. Likely it would have made me nervous once. After spending half a year as Voldemort's prisoner, I wasn't sure I would ever care for something so petty again.

I became aware of the fact that Tom was removing his clothing and my eyes locked on him. As his shirt was pulled away, I noted that his shoulders were broad but not greatly so. Shoulders and chest both were muscled just enough to fit his frame. Black hair sprinkled across his chest, around his dark, flat nipples, and led a delicious trail down to the trousers that he was currently removing. He pulled open the buttons and shucked his pants to reveal what I had glimpsed earlier through the fabric. It was… Well, based on stories that I'd tried not to overhear in my dorm, I was guessing that that was significantly larger than average.

And I wanted it so badly I could have cried. I wanted all of him. In every way imaginable. My body ached for him. My soul cried for him. My heart – traitorous, foolish bloody heart – beat for him.

He did not make me wait long. As soon as he'd managed to remove trousers, pants, socks, and shoes at once, he was on the bed, crawling over me. His lips met mine again.

"Are you a virgin?" he breathed against my lips.

"Yes," I whispered.

He smiled. "Good." And he kissed me again. I felt him press against my wet core, slide through the folds, and then he was poised at my entrance. He pressed into me mercilessly, and-

I couldn't tell if his soul reached for mine or mine for his – both perhaps – but we came together body and soul simultaneously. A scream tore up my throat at the marvelous intensity of mingled pain and pleasure and the orgasm took me instantly.

My entire body clenched as though I was under the Cruciatus again and the force of the pleasure that consumed me was equal to the pain of that curse. I couldn't think, I could barely breathe between screams. I may have either gone blind or clenched shut my eyes – I neither knew nor cared.

An eternity of pain, pleasure, raw sensation, flooded through me with the tidal waves of ice and fire that consumed the world. Pain, fear, grief, regret… all ceased to exist. Nothing bad could ever touch me again. The world now existed solely for me. For _us_.

Gradually, I became aware of a weight on top of me and my eyes slowly fluttered open to reveal Tom Riddle, naked and collapsed on top of me, huffing for breath nearly as hard as I was. Granted, he didn't have anyone on his chest.

For a long time, we just lay there catching our breath. Finally, he pushed himself up and looked into my eyes. "What the hell was that?" he demanded quietly.

I shook my head, "I'm not really sure. I think something may have happened with the soul bond."

"Clearly," he frowned before rolling off me to sprawl at my side in the narrow bed.

I took a moment to look around the room. It seemed that one room served as kitchen, dining, sitting, and bed. The only thing missing was the loo, which I assumed was likely through the single door at the rear. Everything looked quite nice, but it was altogether a lot more _humble _than I'd have ever imagined as a place that Tom Riddle would live. Of course, if it was 1944 and Tom Riddle was born in 1926, then he'd be eighteen, except that his birthday was in December, I recalled. He'd be seventeen. It must be the summer before his seventh year at Hogwarts. He'd chosen this as an alternative to the orphanage, I supposed. It did seem to be quite secluded, at least – there hadn't even been a drive or road that I'd noticed outside – so that fit him, I supposed.

"How much do you know about the bond?" Tom's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Not much," I sighed. _Merlin, my body feels wonderful. I don't think I've ever been so relaxed. _"What I told you already. If you die, I die. I think that it's helped me to understand you better. And I suspect that it was involved in the means of my time travel, and why I ended up practically on your doorstep."

"What do you mean that it helps you to understand me better?" he asked warily.

"I imagine that you understand me better now as well," I noted. "To feel someone's soul…" I shook my head. "I've never experienced anything so intimate. It's like I can literally _feel _what kind of person you are."

"And what kind of person am I?"

I turned my head so I could see those amazing eyes. He was watching me with quiet curiosity. It was an effort to keep my eyes on his face considering that he was still completely naked and quite exposed. _No one should be that gorgeous._

I considered his question, since I knew that he wasn't the same man that had held me captive for so long – not yet. "You're cold, obviously," I began. "You're brilliant, calculating, and absolutely merciless."

He smiled just a little at that last. He clearly found it quite the compliment.

"You take pleasure in the pain of others, but not simply for the fact that you enjoy to watch pain. You enjoy control. Utter, unquestioned control. Inflicting pain is one way in which you exert your control."

His dark eyes were sparkling with pleasure at my description.

"There is also…" I considered this part carefully, as it was new. "Playfulness," was the only way I could think to describe it.

He frowned now. "What?" he asked irritably.

I quirked a doubtful eyebrow. "You enjoy games," I clarified.

He looked thoughtful.

"I would hazard a guess that you're likely the only one taking pleasure from these games," I offered.

He smiled a little, "You may be onto something there. You seem to have gleaned more of me than I have of you," he added suspiciously.

"I have been examining the bond for months," I reminded him. "There wasn't much else to do."

"Did I really leave you in that lightless cell for half a year?" he asked curiously.

I nodded, "Except when you visited. Then the torches were lit."

"Interesting," he muttered thoughtfully. "It seems a poor way to take care of someone that I planned to use for such a purpose."

"I think it was a test," I admitted. A lot of things were beginning to make more sense now that I understood what he'd planned to do with me since that first day.

"A test?"

"You mentioned, just before sending me here, that I was still sane despite darkness, fear, isolation, and the fact that I was beginning to care for you. I got the sense that you were pleased by this, maybe even a little proud. I think you wanted to be certain that I was strong enough, mind _and _soul."

_"You will know when you are meant to know."_ That's what he'd said. I understood now what he'd meant all along. I'd be able to put it together when I had this key piece of information. It made me feel stupidly warm that he'd had such faith in me. I still hated him, absolutely, but I cared for him as well. How had he done that? He'd made me sympathize with him – sometimes even _empathize _– by taking me through so many of his memories. He'd even been civil with me – well, by his standards, he'd been civil. Surely the bond itself had had some impact, and the pleasure that he brought me as well.

_Horrible, awful, evil, wretched man! Damn my foolish heart… and the evil lords that exploited it._

I focused on Tom's curious expression again. It would be more difficult to remember to hate this man. He hadn't done those terrible things yet – well, most of them. And he was unfairly beautiful. And he was passionate in a way that Voldemort was not. And I didn't mean physically – well, that too. Damn. I was just beginning to realize how much trouble I was really in.

"I cannot probe your mind, so how can I be certain that I can trust you?" Tom said quietly, mostly to himself it seemed.

"You already know the answer to that," I heard myself responding.

His eyes narrowed irritably.

I hurried to explain. "Can you not feel it?" I suggested, placing my hand lightly against his chest.

Understanding lit his eyes and he was silent a moment before nodding. "I suppose that I can. I still can't figure why I chose you. You seem tame enough now, but the impression that I got from your soul was that you're about as meek as a lioness, and twice as likely to attack. And you've said yourself that you were my enemy. You're… You're fire to my ice. It seems I could have chosen someone with a more… docile nature."

"I don't think you could," I reasoned. "I don't think that just anyone could have been bonded to you this way. I'm just guessing, but… You were fond of calling me 'perfect' after touching my soul. There was something about the way that we complement each other, I think. Actually, I'm pretty sure that most people would not have survived the touch of your soul."

"What do you mean?" he asked intently.

I swallowed hard at the memories. "Well, yours is not the only soul I've touched. The other two… It felt profoundly wrong. I knew, instinctively, that we could not coexist – that we would destroy each other."

"You touched other souls? Why?" He seemed both intrigued, and something else… Was it… jealously? It seemed absurd, but then Voldemort had never liked for anyone else to play with his toys, did he?

"The first time that you touched my soul, it was incredibly painful," I admitted quietly. "It was… Well, I'd prefer the Cruciatus, honestly. It wasn't just physical pain. I couldn't rightly identify it at the time, but it felt like I was being destroyed from within. Like my soul itself was in danger of coming apart."

He looked intrigued by the picture I painted. Probably considering a new form of torture.

"And then you called one of your followers into the room, and you helped her to touch my soul," I said hollowly, remembering the entire thing in astonishingly vivid detail. It might have just happened.

"Tell me about it," he said quietly.

"She was insane. You admitted that to me later, though I never had any real doubt. She was absolutely obsessed with you, the most loyal of your followers for more than a decade. She tortured me less than an hour previously. Cruciatus and with a knife," I lifted my scarred arm for him to see.

He inspected it curiously while I continued.

"Her soul was the most awful thing I could imagine. It felt sick and… _wrong_. It hurt at first, like yours, but not quite so badly. But then… I fought back. My soul overcame hers. I could literally feel her soul burning. Her eyes bled, and then… Then her soul was just… gone. And she was dead. It was the first time I'd ever killed anyone, and I…" I swallowed again, though it wasn't easy with how dry my throat had become. "I enjoyed it," I said quietly. "No remorse. Satisfaction. Pleasure even.

"She'd hurt me. Hurt… killed people that I had cared about and the families of people that I cared about. I still can't summon any remorse."

I shivered as his fingers trailed lightly down my arm.

"You are an intriguing witch," he noted. "You took to murder as few could, even with such ambition. There was another?"

I nodded. "A month or two later. The husband of the woman I killed. You charged him with bringing me meals and clean frocks. You gave him the opportunity to hurt me in subtle ways – to make sure that I truly hated him, I imagine. And then you told him that you would show him a new way to cause pain, and you linked his soul to mine. The way that you looked at me… I knew that you meant for me to kill him.

"I didn't want to, but when his soul attacked mine, I fought back."

"Did you enjoy that as well?"

I shuddered at the memory. "Yes," I whispered.

"What does it feel like to destroy a soul in that way?" he asked with a hungry kind of curiosity.

"It feels…" my stomach turned, "good. It's power."

"And you like power," he said seductively.

"You're trying to convince me that we're the same," I surmised.

"Just pointing out the obvious," he smirked. His fingers lazily brushed over my shoulder, then down my chest.

Despite the disquiet inspired by the conversation, I could not withhold a shiver of pleasure when he circled my nipple with long, warm fingers.

"When did you begin to enjoy the touch of my soul?" he asked quietly while his fingers continued their ministrations, his eyes now on mine, cataloguing my every twitch.

"Right after I kill the woman," I whispered, struggling to keep the conversation separate from the sensation of his touch. "You touched me again, and I realized the meaning of it for the first time. I also realized that it felt… right. It still hurt, but-"

"But you like pain," he finished for me.

"Sometimes," I admitted uncomfortably.

His fingers trailed lightly down my stomach. "I think I've changed my mind," he whispered, lips brushing my ear as his warm breath sent shivers through me. "I think I chose well."

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**All right. A bit shorter. Not sure what the average chapter length for this one will be, but I generally try to keep chapters at least 4,000 words. This has only been edited once, so I do hope there aren't too many errors. If there are, I'll try to fix them later and update the chapter. Regardless, I'm eager to find out if I've lived up to your expectations. Please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Okay, anyone following Distraction I'M SORRY! I am working on chapter 9, but it's been arguing with me. Promise that I will get it posted as soon as I can! If you're following Phoenix, I'll try to get that posted tonight or tomorrow. Not sure yet.

To everyone who has taken the time to send me reviews on this fic, I love you guys so much! Thank you for encouraging me to continue with this fic. It's turning out to be a lot of fun to write!

**In This Chapter: ** Tom's thoughts, and some new books! Enjoy!

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**Tom's POV**

I apparated back to my cottage and was instantly filled with the sense of relief that was becoming so familiar. Being far from Hermione was almost physically painful thanks to that wretched bond. It felt like a trap, being so tied to this woman who was at once a virtual stranger and an intimate companion. I'd never in my life felt close to anyone. Until now. It was disconcerting. My only consolation was that my elder self must have done this for a reason. I would not have tied myself to this woman if the benefit did not outweigh the risk of allowing anyone so close.

Hermione seemed obedient enough, but I knew better. I'd touched her soul. There was nothing mild or tame about her. Her spirit may have been repressed after months as my prisoner, spending most of her time in complete darkness, but it had not been broken. I couldn't help but wonder what would happen when it recovered. Already, I could see the signs that she was changing. Her confidence was growing.

She still answered my questions as well as she could and seemed to take pains to avoid angering me, but she was becoming bolder. It was most noticeable when we had sex, though it was also, admittedly, rather difficult to catalogue when I was so distracted. She took liberties in our bed that were too brazen to fit her personality. They certainly fit the fire of her soul though.

Yes, she was changing. Had I foreseen this in the future? Surely I could not have overlooked what was in her soul – particularly as she'd evidently been my enemy. But maybe, I realized, I hadn't _wanted_ her broken. There was something special about her soul. Something that had caused me to choose her. If she was broken, would that vital "something" be lost? I suspected that it may.

And so I returned home from work each day wondering if she would still be there, or if she'd have left me. I wasn't accustomed to unknowns. Those closest to me were my Knights, and I controlled them entirely through fear and through honeyed promises of power and glory. Hermione did not seem to truly fear me, despite how long she'd been held prisoner by my older self. Despite the fact that she seemed to understand me better than any of my Knights. And she held no aspirations to power or glory that I'd noticed. Her, I controlled by her affection for me. It was an unknown element that I did not care for, but in the two weeks since Hermione had fallen into my life, she had not left even though I left her alone with her wand all day long.

I opened the front door and my eyes met hers, as they always did. It was as if they were drawn to hers instinctively. For a long moment, our gaze held. I was able to assure myself that she was still here, still well, and then I forced myself to turn away and close the door behind me. The very intensity of my need for her unnerved me. I needed to understand more about our bond. About soul magic in general.

To that end, I moved to the table and began removing from my pockets the books I had… acquired today.

Without a word, Hermione came over to the table to examine the books I was enlarging. She rarely ever spoke except to respond to me. I liked that about her, but it also concerned me sometimes. I worried for what went on beneath the surface of those intelligent brown eyes. Sometimes it felt like I could see her mind working even though I had not dared to attempt Legilimency on her again. It seemed foolish of me – future me – to handicap myself in that way, but I certainly would have plundered her every secret in a matter of days otherwise. Perhaps it was my way of cautioning myself to patience.

I enlarged the last book and watched Hermione's eyes as she examined the titles from where she stood at my side, close enough that her shoulder nearly brushed my arm, but not quite. Her eyes froze on _Contours Of The Soul: Mates, Bonds, and Beyond_. Her hand stretched out toward it before she caught herself and snatched it back, wide eyes darting up to meet mine.

That was a first. She'd momentarily forgotten to differ to me. And if she was forgetting, it meant that it was no longer coming instinctively. Strangely, I found that both disconcerting and exciting. I had enough pets, I supposed. Hermione might be something… more.

After holding her eyes for a long moment, both of us motionless, I nodded very slightly and she dropped her eyes, reaching for the book once more. She picked it up this time, and opened it. Rather than choosing a book for myself, I watched as her eyes zipped across the page rapidly, a slight frown making her somehow more striking as she absorbed the content.

When she moved to turn the page, I placed my hand on her wrist and she froze again, eyes meeting mine. She wasn't afraid, I knew. But she was wary. She truly knew me as no one else did. Rather than speaking, I led her to the bed and sat against the headboard before gesturing for her to join me. I bent my knees and spread my legs before gathering her between them. The book, I settled into her lap, then began to read over her shoulder.

And we remained that way for the next hour. There was something absurdly comforting in having her pressed against me, and her position meant that every time she stirred, she rubbed against my cock. It was a most exquisite form of torture that I enjoyed very much for the fact that I knew I could take her at any moment. She would not resist me. She would even want it. I could tell by the rapid beat of both of our hearts that she was as aroused as me. Which, of course, meant that I wasn't the only one being tortured. That made it all the better.

Finally, I moved my hand from the place it had been resting on her knee for the last ten minutes, and drew her skirt slowly up her thigh, my fingers caressing the soft skin. I heard her breath hitch and smiled. When my hand reached her cunt, I cupped it firmly, enjoying the way that she twitched. She was very wet.

I left my hand there and continued to read despite the way I was throbbing against her back.

I knew that she'd also gone back to reading for she soon reached to turn the page. As she'd done with each page before, she paused a moment to see if I would object before completing the movement. She read about as fast as I did, so it was not difficult to read together. I lifted my hand enough to tuck it beneath her knickers, sliding my fingers through her wetness and causing her to moan. Then I stopped and continued reading though her heavy breathing was only slightly greater than mine.

And so our new game began. With each page that she turned, I would move my fingers just enough to make her squirm against me and moan. Then I would stop until another page was turned. Though I was enjoying the game very much, I found that we'd both begun to read even faster than normal.

Soon, she'd begun to whimper plaintively each time that I stopped, and her squirming had become more purposeful. She was attempting to push me into ending the game. That just made me even more determined to hold out.

"Tom," she finally shuddered when I'd stopped after the twelfth page of our game. "Please."

"I think I like it when you beg," I whispered in her ear before nibbling on it.

Her whole body shuddered. She was so close I could probably finish her with just my teeth on her ear – and maybe myself too.

"Take your clothes off," I whispered, and she leapt out of the bed so quickly it was almost like she'd flown. In seconds, she had herself stripped out of the pretty dress I'd bought for her.

I slid to the edge of the bed, carefully moving the book onto the side table so that it wasn't ruined in what was coming next. I began to undress myself, watching her eyes. They were dark with lust and she was trembling with need, but she did not attempt to touch me as I paced myself far more slowly than I truly wished. I was curious to see how obedient she could be.

I reached out for her, but stopped before she could actually press her body into mine. I trailed my hands down her body, watching her skin pebble beneath my fingers with intense fascination. The effect that I had on her may have even been stronger than the effect she had on me. I rolled her hardened nipples between my fingers, watching her eyes as she watched mine.

"Please," she finally said again.

"What?" I asked quietly. "What do you want, Hermione?"

"You," she gasped. "I want you, Tom."

"You'll have to be more specific," I teased quietly, sliding one hand slowly down her stomach, but not as low as she so badly wanted.

"I want…" she faltered, her cheeks coloring even further than arousal had already left them. "I want you inside me," she finally managed, her eyes sliding shut.

"Look at me," I whispered.

Her eyes opened while her teeth captured her lower lip.

"You are far too innocent, sweet Hermione," I smirked. Finally, I lowered my hand to her cunt, touching her nub very lightly. My other hand moved to restrain her when she tried to push into me. "Tell me what _exactly_, you want inside of you," I pressed.

She whimpered quietly. Then she swallowed hard, and her eyes lit with a fire that I had only before felt within her. "I want your _cock _inside me, Tom," she hissed.

That fire should have bothered me. I should have been keeping her beaten down. I should have been repressing that fire. I should not have been so thrilled to have kindled it. With the combination of those delicious words and that fiery blaze though, I could no longer withhold. My lips crashed into hers and I whipped her around, throwing her across the bed and landing on top of her almost at once. Her legs were parted for me and I drove my cock into her dripping wet cunt with force enough to make her scream.

Our souls came together at the same time by what seemed to be mutual need, and the intensity of our mating increased exponentially. I reveled beneath the heat of the flames that would not be quenched by the ice that burned within me. When we were together in this way, it seemed so obvious that we were the perfect match. Opposite, but somehow incomplete individually. I marked her neck and shoulder with my teeth, not quite hard enough to draw blood, and she moaned spectacularly beneath me.

Then something unexpected happened. She'd taken liberties during sex before, touching me, kissing me, pulling my hair – not that I minded any of it really – but she went further this time. She locked her legs around me, put her arms down across the bed, and then twisted so sharply as to knock me over even while she rolled on top of me. I may have protested if it hadn't been. So. Fucking. Hot.

I'd never let her be on top before. It had felt too much like surrendering control. It probably should have bothered me that I now discovered I enjoyed it very much. Because it was her. Likely it would bother me later. I couldn't care at the moment. It felt too good when she did _that_. She rolled her hips and I groaned involuntarily. She did it again, her angle slightly different. The third time she did it, I nearly came. I looked into her eyes and I saw beneath the lust that they were calculating. She was learning what pleased me. And she was a fast learner.

She started to work the rolling into a faster rhythm and I felt myself nearing release. Just when I was about to tip over the edge, I reached up and grabbed both of her nipples. Hard. She screamed and it sent me over at the same time as her.

Just as I was beginning to regain my sight, she rolled away from me, leaving enough distance that only our legs were touching. We both lay without speaking as our breathing gradually evened out.

"Why did you do that?" I finally asked.

She was silent for a long moment and I gathered that she may have been wondering as much herself. "I-" she hesitated. She turned her head to look at me, her brow furrowed. Something that may have been a distant kind of fear turned in her. I could literally feel it. Could she feel me like that?

"Answer the question," I bade, my tone quiet but hard.

She gulped. "I wanted-"

And I knew the answer. "You wanted control," I finished for her.

She licked her lips nervously, turning her head to stare at the ceiling.

I considered the situation. I couldn't very well let her get away with that. I couldn't allow her to think it was okay for her to be in control. Ever. But I really didn't want to forbid her from doing that again. I'd enjoyed it too much.

I rolled abruptly and leaned down over her, my face right above hers. She flinched like she was expecting a _Crucio_. "You belong to me, Hermione," I hissed quietly. "Never forget that. Any control you may feel that you hold is only there because I allow it."

She nodded, but she could not hide the spark of defiance that flashed through her eyes. It was there only a moment, but it was there. Maybe I _should_ use _Crucio_, I considered. Even if only briefly, it would get my point across, I was certain. It just might snuff out that fire too.

It was the second part that bothered me.

I sat up quickly and began dressing at an unhurried pace. The fire that I felt inside her was the part that made her more than anyone else I'd met. It was the part that intrigued me. That made me crave her on so many levels. Without that… She would just be another one of "them". She'd be just another worthless witch following me around. It seemed like a waste. I could not abide waste.

Hermione didn't move the entire time that I was dressing. No doubt she knew that I was making a decision and she was waiting to hear it. I took my time. Let her sweat. I could feel her apprehension.

When I was finally dressed, I leaned over her again. "You've pleased me today, so I will overlook your impertinence, Hermione. This time." I brushed a chaste kiss across her lips before going into the kitchen area for a drink.

She finally got up and began dressing then.

"Dinner?" I asked as she pulled on her blouse.

"In the icebox," she replied, her voice just loud enough for me to hear. "I just need to warm it."

It was nice to have someone around to cook for me, even if she was a terrible cook. I really wasn't any better. I'd bought her some cookbooks and she was beginning to get better. She may be passable at it by the time we returned to school.

Hogwarts. Another concern. We had less than a month before term started. Hermione needed to get registered, but we couldn't very well explain that she'd been to Hogwarts in the 1990's. That brought me back to the books I'd brought home.

I sat down at the table and opened _Magicka Mentis_ while I waited for her to warm the… casserole? "What is that?" I inquired while she held her wand above it to heat it.

"Sweet potato casserole," she responded, her voice a bit numbed. "There's green beans as well, and I fried the steak you bought. It'll only take a moment."

I turned away from her and allowed her to finish. She'd learned quickly to prepare dinner early so that it could be ready whenever I wished. She seemed to learn everything quickly, which intrigued me a bit.

She served me first and then prepared her own plate and sat down across the table from me. After a few minutes of silence, she spoke, "Do you mind if I read this?" she asked quietly, her eyes down.

I glanced up at the book she was indicating, then I looked at her face. "Do you have a particular interest in blood magic, Hermione?"

Her cheeks colored slightly, another sign that she was recovering some of her vitality. "I have an interest in pretty much everything," she replied quietly.

I leaned back thoughtfully and studied her. Part of me thought that it may not be to my benefit to allow her to study the dark arts. It would give her more formidable skills that she may someday choose to use against me should she ever recall her reasoning in being my enemy in the first place. I generally preferred to keep the best of the dark spells to myself. Granted, blood magic had never been my forte. I used it for the rituals, but only certain ones. There was something about it that seemed to disagree with me. Perhaps something in my blood was not ideal to carry the magic. The fact that I was not exceptional in this area meant that I should probably be even more wary to let her touch it. Then again, it seemed exceedingly unlikely that Hermione was much for using dark magic, regardless of her interest in "everything".

What it truly came down to, however, was that I trusted her more than I trusted anyone else in the world. Honestly, that wasn't saying all that much, but I felt confident that I would feel it if she decided to betray me. And I could kill her before she got the chance.

I nodded before turning my attention back to my own book.

We finished the meal in silence while we read and she paused long enough to send the dishes to the sink and start them washing before turning her attention back to her book. This had become our routine in the evenings. Reading in silence. It was oddly… relaxing. Between the orphanage and Hogwarts, I'd almost never been truly alone in my life. Moving out to this cottage had been a blessing. I'd reveled in the peace of silence. But I did not find Hermione's presence annoying. Quite the opposite. She was actually capable of being quiet.

I wondered if that would change if more of her true personality came out. I hoped not, but she was a woman, so I wasn't going to bet on it.

"This is interesting," I muttered as one spell caught my eye. After a moment, I turned the book and pushed it across the table toward her, pointing to the passage that had interested me.

I watched her face as she read. Her eyes narrowed speculatively as they darted across the page, and then grew distant as she considered it. "Dominus Mentis," she muttered finally, nodding slightly. "That could work."

I smiled slightly. Clearly her mind had gone the same way mine had. "Shall we see how it works?"

Her eyes widened as I pointed my wand at her and spoke the incantation, but she didn't move. Her wand was across the room anyway. Even a wandless _Accio_ wouldn't have gotten it to her on time.

Her eyes glazed as I stared into them and I pushed the fabricated memory at her.

Before it could find purchase, she blinked rapidly and I felt the effect slip away.

My brow rose. She'd… overcome my spell. Even if she did look chagrined at having done it, that shouldn't have been possible. "How?" I asked quietly. Had the spell worked properly?

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I had a lot of time to build up resistance to your mind magic."

"Why did you need to resist me?" I pressed. I hadn't realized that she'd resisted future me in anything.

She shook her head slowly. "I, um. To see if I could, maybe. To prove that I could. I don't know. I mean… I can't remember what I was thinking. You used to _Imperio_ me to eat every night for the first couple months."

"Why would I need to use _Imperio_ to make you eat?"

"Because I wanted to die," she said quietly. Her only corresponding emotions seemed to be sadness and… regret. Did she regret wanting to die or failing to?

More importantly, I now knew that Legilimency was not the only spell that I could not use on her. Evidently, I would have to be careful about any mind magic.

"We'll practice it tomorrow," I dismissed, drawing the book back to me.

She didn't question me about how we would practice. She just nodded and returned her attention to her book.

No, I didn't mind her company at all.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Hermione froze when she stepped out of the cottage and observed the middle-aged wizard at my side. Her sharp eyes focused on the eyes of my guest and widened slightly before turning back to mine. "Who is he?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," I admitted. "What's your name?"

"Dennis," he replied immediately. "Dennis MacLean."

I turned my gaze back to Hermione.

She stared at the man for a moment. "Please tell me that we're going to Obliviate him and send him home when this is over."

I shrugged, "If it works we could send him home with the sudden desire to murder his family in their sleep."

Hermione paled.

I rolled my eyes. "It was a joke, Hermione."

"I know," she nodded, and I did get the sense that she knew that. Perhaps she'd also sensed that I felt no particular revulsion for my facetious suggestion. Oh well, she already knew that I wasn't a nice person.

"I'll have to relieve him of the Imperius to adequately judge the effect of the Dominus spell, so do act quickly lest he try something… annoying."

She swallowed hard as she drew her wand from her waist where it had been tucked behind her belt. I needed to get her a proper wand sheath before school started, I realized. It always struck me as so unrefined when people kept their wands in ordinary pockets.

She nodded slightly to me and I released Dennis from the Imperius. His eyes grew huge and he just had time to glance between Hermione and me before her spell struck. His eyes instantly glazed and his mouth gaped open slightly. I frowned at him curiously while Hermione's eyes narrowed.

Less than a minute later, the man blinked and looked between us again. This time he smiled. "Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Fellshire. A pleasure to finally meet your lovely wife, sir." He offered his hand and I shook it, bemused by the display. "Now, you're looking to adopt, are you?"

"That's right," I smiled naturally despite being shocked by what she'd evidently put in his head. "Please, just allow me a moment to confer with my wife."

"Of course," he smiled peaceably.

I moved to stand next to Hermione with my back to our guest. "Impressive," I smirked at her.

She did not smile in return, but I could feel that she was pleased. And, interstingly, disturbed as well. That conscience of hers could be annoying. I wondered if I could break her of that.

"My turn," I added, drawing my wand as I turned back to the man and casting the spell before he could become alarmed that I was pointing a wand at him.

Unlike when I'd cast against Hermione, I slipped easily into his mind. I discovered the memories that Hermione had planted and was impressed to find that it was barely noticeable that they weren't real. If I hadn't known what to look for, I very likely would not have found them at all. The girl had talent. And there was such detail for her to have done it so quickly. Dennis believed that he'd met me before on two occasions at his office – she'd altered his existing memories so that I had replaced a real client, it seemed.

Oh, I could have fun with this spell… That book had been worth every flirtatious smirk I'd been forced to lavish on that foul woman. It was the next thing to priceless considering its rarity. Luckily, she'd been ignorant of that fact.

I altered his memories to ensure that he'd not remember ever meeting either of us as soon as he was gone, nor how to get back here, then backed out of his mind and watched him blink again.

"Well, thank you so much for your time, Mr. Fellshire. Mrs. Fellshire. I'll look forward to seeing you both again soon." And with that, he disapparated.

I turned to Hermione again with a grin. "That should work splendidly on anyone not well versed in Occlumency."

"You didn't do anything… mean, did you?" she asked warily.

I sighed, "I did not convince him to harm anyone, if that is your concern."

She sagged slightly in relief.

"Must you always think the worst of me?" I wondered curiously.

"Experience tells me that it would be foolish to do otherwise," she admitted quietly.

"I never kill without purpose, Hermione. Is that not true of me in the future?"

Her brow furrowed as she seemed to consider it. "I'm not certain," she finally admitted. "Your Death Eaters seemed to kill simply for amusement, but… I suppose it could be argued that you only allowed it to appease them."

I nodded. That didn't sound terribly out of character for me. Assuming that I was in a position to allow them such indulgence without unnecessary risk to me or my plans. It may have even furthered my plans by culturing fear.

"Or to frighten people," she added.

I quirked an eyebrow at our parallel thoughts, though I was certain that she couldn't read my mind. It seemed that we thought alike. Even if our opinions differed completely. The same, yet opposite. Just like our souls. Interesting…

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**Mwuhahahaha! Okay, sorry. But Tom's a creepy SOB isn't he? Next chapter's up for grabs. Would you prefer more of Hermione's POV or should I continue in Tom's?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Okay, this chapter is a little bit shorter, but… Well, I'll just let you read it.

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**Hermione's POV**

Tom was staring at me while I put on the new robes he'd bought for me. I was still getting used to the 1940's fashions, but what Tom had given me to wear was nice. He seemed to consider my appearance a point of personal pride. That was further evidenced by the book on cosmetic charms that he'd given me with the strict order to "learn them". I belonged to him, and he wanted his possessions to be nothing less than coveted by anyone who should see them.

The part of me that absolutely rebelled at the very thought of "belonging" to anyone was becoming louder, I noticed while I tried to pretend that I didn't feel the weight of his gaze on me. Watching me dress seemed to have become a hobby of his.

He always seemed to be either watching me intently or pointedly ignoring my existence.

I could almost feel his thoughts when they were focused on me as they were now. I had no idea the direction of those thoughts, but I knew that I was the object of his consideration, and I knew that he was thinking rather hard about something. I ached to ask about it, but I dared not. I knew that he'd take that poorly. He always took it poorly when I took any initiative beyond that which he gave me. I made his meals and warmed his bed – the latter of which made me want to shiver with desire at the very thought. I did as I was told.

Our bond had grown stronger since I'd arrived here. Indeed, it was stillgrowing stronger, I thought. I _needed_ him in the same way I needed oxygen. I _wanted _him in the same way I wanted my magic. And I hated him for that very necessity. I hated him for the way that my insides ached when he was gone. I grieved for the loss of him even when I knew he would return shortly.

As much as I truly loathed it, Tom Riddle had become the focus of my entire world, quite apart from the fact that I was lost in a time not my own.

"Ready?" his quiet, commanding voice inquired when I'd completed the charm to fix my hair into an elegant twist along the back and left side of my head.

And that simple word brought the reality of the situation crashing down on me again. I could no longer avoid the truth of what we were going to do. I also knew that I could not refuse. Even had I been able to tell him no, logic dictated that this was necessary – another hated necessity. So, I pulled in a bracing breath and nodded to him.

Without another word, he turned and left the cottage, leaving me to follow as we both knew that I would. As I always would.

He drew his wand, stared at me for a moment with something like unease concealed behind his expressionless mask, and then he turned and disapparated.

I followed at once, certain that he would not be pleased if made to wait for me. I appeared right next to him just outside the gates of Hogwarts with a soft _pop_. He lifted one black brow at me and I sensed that he was impressed.

I felt my lips twitch in a stillborn smile that was gone before it could truly form. It was an awful reality that I was pleased to have impressed him.

He checked his pocket watch, then lifted his arm at his side. My arm curled around his without thought and we started toward the gates together. They opened for us and I failed to repress a shiver as we passed through the wards and started toward the castle that had been my home for so long. The last time I'd been here had been right after the funeral. Dumbledore's funeral.

What should have been my seventh year had been spent running and hiding, making no real progress toward the goal of destroying the horcruxes. It all seemed so pitiful now. Three foolish kids trying to take down the most powerful dark wizard to ever live. As though we'd ever had a chance. As though anyone, Dumbledore included, had ever understood Lord Voldemort well enough to have the slightest hope of defeating him.

No, Voldemort was always going to win. I still didn't understand precisely why he'd sent me back – particularly as he had prevented himself from plundering my mind – but perhaps it would be possible for me to temper the damage he would do. At the very least, I may be able to mitigate the effect on muggleborns. That was something that he personally did not care about, so perhaps if I could find another way to appease his "followers" in the years to come…

I hated myself for even considering these things, but I did not know what else to do. My predicament seemed untenable. I was attached to this man, and I suspected that I would be so for the rest of my life. All that I could see to do was to pick my battles and make what difference I could while trying to remember who I was and what I cared about beyond the man next to me.

"What are you thinking about?" Tom asked intently.

"The last time that I was here," I replied quietly.

"Tell me about it," he commanded.

"It feels like a lifetime ago," I explained. "I was a different person. When I left here… I was determined to destroy you. Even if it killed me, which I suspected it very well may." I shook my head, "I never could have imagined ending up here." I tightened my hold on his arm briefly to accentuate what I meant by "here".

His free hand slipped over mine where it rested on his arm and I felt his soul embrace mine the smallest bit in a comforting caress. I wasn't sure if he really meant to do that or not, but I suspected that it had been an unconscious gesture. His ruddy soul treated me better than he did. Whatever philosophy may be gained about him based on that observation was beyond me.

We walked all the way up to the seventh floor together without meeting anyone else in the nearly vacant school.

"Commonality," Tom said when we reached the gargoyle.

I frowned as it moved aside. It bothered me to hear such a password for this particular office even though Dumbledore wouldn't be dead in this time. Tom's lips twisted into a smirk that was probably meant to be agreement with my frown though he couldn't know the source of my particular distaste.

We reached the top of the revolving staircase and I watched as Tom rolled his shoulders briefly before fixing his face into a pleasant mask.

I took a short breath and worked to mimic his transformation. I'd been practicing in front of the mirror during the hours that I spent alone in the cottage. I had no doubt at all that lying was one thing I needed to become proficient at if I was going to be spending time around Tom in public.

"Yes, come in," an unfamiliar male voice called in response to Tom's knock.

Tom opened the door and held it for me to precede him like a perfect gentleman. Considering that the headmaster was watching, I withheld the urge to give him a significant look and simply stepped into the office as though Tom did that sort of thing all the time.

I tried to keep my gaze merely politely interested in the décor of the office rather than grimly disappointed at the utilitarian space, so very different from what it had been – would be – when it belonged to Dumbledore.

"Ah, Tom," Dippet smiled as he rose behind his desk to greet them. "And you must be Miss Granger, my dear," he added, extending his hand to me.

"_Oui, Monsieur_," I replied in the flawless French accent that I had been practicing all week with Madame Tourneaux. That little memory charm we had discovered frankly scared the shit out of me. The fact that Tom couldn't work it on me was small consolation as he seemed keen to use it on absolutely anyone else – rearranging memories to suit his whims. Madame Tourneaux was under the impression that she'd been hired to tutor me in my French. I was already fluent, but she'd been working to correct my accent. She was a former professor at Beauxbatons, and we'd both explored her memories to learn what we needed.

The blessing of the Dominus spell was that it allowed a very neat alternative to Obliviating, which left rather obvious gaps in one's memory, or murder, which I knew that Tom would not hesitate to commit if it served his purposes. Still, the possibilities of its uses in his hands disturbed me greatly.

"I am Armando Dippet, Headmaster here at Hogwarts, as Tom has no doubt told you," he continued to smile as he accepted the folder that Tom offered him containing my forged transcripts. "Please, have a seat," he gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk as he resumed his seat.

"You didn't say in your letter, Tom, how you and Miss Granger came to know each other," he noted curiously.

"I spent some time in France over the summer holiday," Tom lied flawlessly. "Hermione is an orphan like me, so I took it upon myself to watch over her when she made the decision to transfer here."

"I lived in England when I was young," I supplied. "With the war becoming so heated in France, and me being of age, it seemed a good time to leave."

Dippet nodded sympathetically. "That was very nice of you, Tom. And I understand perfectly, Miss Granger." He turned his attention to the folder in front of him and began to flip through the pages. "I must say, however, that I am surprised. A seventh year transfer, particularly one with marks like these, is a rare enough thing that I'd have thought Headmistress Renard would have sent me an owl, or at least enclosed an explanation…"

Tom rose, "Actually, sir, I believe that's mentioned… Just a moment, I'm certain that I saw it." He walked around the desk as he spoke and began shuffling through the pages while he drew his wand discreetly and twirled it in his fingers behind his back.

I watched as the portraits of former headmasters dozed off almost as one. His spell had worked perfectly, though I wasn't greatly surprised. Tom had seemed convinced that it would work, and I was willing to bet that he was rarely wrong, particularly when it came to spells.

Well, it was now or never. Tom's little ruse about an enclosed note would not keep Dippet distracted much longer. Banishing my misgivings, I drew my wand and cast the spell quickly with a quiet, "_Dominus mentis_."

Dippet's eyes glazed and his mouth gapped as I slipped easily into his mind. I took my time and worked carefully. I could not afford any mistakes, and I needed to conceal my modifications seamlessly. It was Azkaban for us both if we were caught in this. Of course, I had faced much worse than imprisonment many times in my life. It didn't really frighten me, particularly considering my current situation.

Working off his own memories for authenticity, I inserted a memory of receiving a letter from Headmistress Renard. I then went through his memories between that time and now, adding little bits here and there to corroborate his knowledge of my arrival, including his receipt of Tom's letter setting up this meeting, and finally altered his memory of this meeting so far.

Tom had brought home a different witch or wizard for us to practice on every day all week. He was good at it, but I seemed to have a lighter touch for blending the memories seamlessly with those around them, which was why I was doing this part.

When I drew out of the headmaster's mind, Tom was sitting next to me once more.

Dippet blinked, then smiled at us while the portraits began to awaken. "Well then, Miss Granger. Everything seems to be in order," he declared without suspicion. "Let's just see about getting you sorted into a house."

"Thank you, _monsieur_," I smiled as an odd thrill coursed through me at my success even while my stomach turned with guilt. Part of me suspected that I was going to need to get over feeling guilty about stuff like this. Another part greatly feared that I just might.

I heard laughter as soon as the hat settled onto my head.

_Oh, that was very naughty, Miss Granger, very naughty indeed, _the hat said in my mind, its tone indicating more amusement than reproach. _Using an illegal memory charm on the headmaster, _the chuckling continued. _You have the nerve of a Gryffindor, without doubt, but the cunning and ambition of a Slytherin. And, of course, there's the connection to Salazar himself. Oh yes, this is the easiest decision I've made since I sorted Mr. Riddle._

"Slytherin!"

I had expected to be sorted that way. It didn't seem possible that one could use such a spell on the headmaster and be sorted anywhere else. The mention of a connection to Salazar surprised me, but I could only imagine that he was referring to something about my bond to Tom, who was Slytherin's heir, after all.

"Ah, splendid," Dippet concluded, and Tom's small smile looked pleased. "As I'm sure you know, Miss Granger, Tom is in Slytherin, so I'm certain he'll be able to make you feel comfortable here."

"Yes, sir," Tom replied, the picture of politeness.

"Yes, that reminds me." Dippet fished into his desk and handed something to Tom. "You've earned it, dear boy."

"Thank you, sir," Tom smiled wide as he accepted what I realized was a headboy's badge.

The meeting ended shortly, after Tom had shared a few meaningless pleasantries with the headmaster, and we headed toward the exit once more, neither of us speaking.

We were nearing the Transfigurations room when none other than Albus Dumbledore entered the corridor in front of us. He looked first at Tom and then his eyes found me before flicking down to our linked arms. "Hello, Tom," he said politely, but with a wariness in his eyes that was foreign to me.

"Hello, Professor," Tom replied smoothly, though I could feel his distaste for Dumbledore.

"And who might this be?"

It was at once remarkable and incredibly unnerving to see Albus Dumbledore looking so young. Unlike Tom, who may have almost been a different person for how little he and his elder self had in common, Dumbledore hardly seemed change at all. Fewer wrinkles and more colorful hair were the greatest differences.

"Hermione Granger, sir," I responded. "I'm transferring to Hogwarts for my final year."

Dumbledore actually looked a little surprised by my introducing myself. I wondered if that was a period thing or if it was more personally related to Tom. Would he expect any woman of Tom's to not be allowed to speak without permission? _Silly question_, I chided myself when I noticed Tom's irritation.

"A pleasure to meet you, my dear," Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling the smallest bit. "I see you've already met our head boy. What brings you to the castle, Tom?"

"I am escorting Miss Granger," Tom replied amicably, though I could feel his irritation slowly mounting.

"Ah, I see. May I ask how you know each other?" Dumbledore questioned with nothing but polite curiosity evident in him.

"I'm sorry, but we really should be going…" Tom said, beginning to lead me away.

"Tom, darling, don't be rude," I said, our linked arms stopping him as I refused to follow. "The professor only asked a simple question," I chided even while I internally recoiled from the fury I felt expanding hot and biting inside him. I turned my attention back to Albus in time to see the surprise in his eyes quickly wiped away. "Tom has been kind enough to look after me since I've come to Britain," I explained.

"That's very nice of him," Dumbledore replied, looking at Tom now with barely concealed suspicion.

"He's the perfect gentleman," I smiled, a bit astonished at my own performance. Tom was clearly rubbing off on me. I only wondered if that was a mundane thing or a magical one. "I can't imagine what I'd have done without his generosity."

Tom softened outwardly though his temper had not cooled. "You shall never need to imagine such a thing," he said gallantly, lifting my hand from his arm to press his lips lightly against my knuckles.

I blushed at the depth of his possessiveness suddenly warring with his anger.

"We really should be going, my dear," Tom continued in that soft, utterly fabricated tone. "It would not do to be late."

"Of course," I replied with a soft smile of my own before focusing on Dumbledore again. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Professor."

"Likewise, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied kindly though I could see the questions swirling behind his very blue eyes.

Tom and I left the future headmaster in our wake and walked arm in arm all the way out through the gates without another word.

He apparated us both.

We appeared before the cottage, and my only warning was the fury that I felt spiral out of control before I was shoved to the ground.

I winced as I landed hard on my elbows and tailbone, and my mind irrationally began searching for the charm to remove grass stains even while I looked up into dark, rage-filled eyes. A wand pointed at my face.

"What was the meaning of that?!" he demanded, trembling slightly beneath what I could only imagine was a strong need to curse me into submission.

"You're welcome," I ground out rather unwisely. Perhaps his anger was baiting my own. Or maybe I was just getting sick of being afraid of him.

"_Crucio_!" he snapped.

Agony. It felt like my blood was on fire. It felt like I was being torn limb from limb. It felt like…

It stopped.

I gasped for air, closing my eyes against the late morning sunlight.

"Tell me why you defied me in front of Professor Dumbledore," Tom grated, his voice slightly breathy.

I swallowed some blood and realized that I'd bitten my tongue. "He doesn't trust you," I groaned.

"I know that," he snapped. "How was it helpful to show him that I couldn't even control a woman?"

"Not that you couldn't," I sighed, trying to ignore the tingles of pain still stabbing through my extremities in response to the brief curse. "That you _didn't_. He thought me a victim. Now he doesn't know what to think."

"So we've confused him. As much as that amuses me, I still fail to see how it is helpful," he said, his tone far from amused.

"He wants to see the good in everyone, Tom," I breathed wearily before pushing myself up to a sitting position and looking up at him. "I've just given him the idea that you may have a soft spot."

"For a woman," he sneered.

"A weakness, Tom," I pointed out, which caused his anger to flare dangerously. "A _perceived _weakness," I corrected. "One that Dumbledore may seek to use against you."

His anger faded as he finally seemed to consider the possibilities. "Interesting," he finally admitted. His eyes fell to me again after a long moment. "Get inside and clean yourself up," he ordered with little real interest.

**Tom's POV**

I watched Hermione wince as she stood and flicked my wand to close the door behind her once she was inside. When I was alone, I paced slowly over to the old oak on the next hill, feeling more disturbed than I had in a very long time.

The _Crucio_ may have been a bit more than was necessary, I admitted to myself. Listening to her talk back to me in front of Dumbledore of all people had been infuriating, but I'd been willing to hear her explanation when we were alone. When she'd all but mocked me though… No one treated me like that without consequence. The fact that part of me had actually thrilled at her gall had made it much worse.

When I'd cast that curse though… For the very first time, I'd felt something dangerously akin to… Remorse. It had been literally painful for me to harm her. Like I could feel an echo of her pain in my very soul. That was greatly disturbing. _Perhaps I should try to use that curse on her more often. Surely I can learn to ignore that feeling if not destroy it entirely. I just need practice._

_I just _need_ to not feel my stomach turning at the very thought of it!_

I gripped my wand very tightly as I turned to lean against the tree so that I could look at the cottage. I wanted to kill her. My older self must have made a mistake. Maybe I'd simply underestimated her? Clearly something had gone wrong. She was supposed to be attached to me. It was _not _supposed to work both ways. That didn't make any sense. Why would I do that?

Clearly, I was incredibly powerful in the future. I had the skill to forge this bond with her. I had the power to send her back fifty-five years through time. It bothered me though that it was so difficult to understand the reasoning that had led me to do this.

I stood under that oak for hours as the sun moved across the sky, just staring at the cottage where I could occasionally see signs of movement within. She'd defied me today. She'd done it to help me with one of my biggest problems to date, but she'd also done it completely independently. She'd defied me in front of Dumbledore and she had not seemed the smallest bit contrite upon our return – not even after the _Crucio_. She handed the complex Dominus spell with evident ease, even improving upon my own tact for it. She was powerful, intelligent, and very brave. I… I actually seemed to care about her.

She was a greater threat to me than maybe even Dumbledore. The bond that I felt to her seemed only to be growing on my end – influencing me increasingly – was it the same for her? What if it wasn't?

With a sigh, I made a decision. There really was only one logical course of action for me. Hermione Granger was too much of a threat. I had to kill her. I had to do it now before I lost the ability to do it at all.

With that firm conviction, I gripped my wand more tightly and started back toward the cottage.

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**Mean cliffie, I know. Sorry. I'll try to get the next chapter put together as soon as I can. I love you all, and will be accepting verbal floggings in the form of reviews at your convenience. :-D**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Okay, super short chapter, I know, and I've made you wait so long for it. Terribly sorry. I did not feel that this section could be combined with the next. So, here it is!

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**Hermione's POV**

I felt it when Tom came to a decision. I'd been feeling his turmoil since he'd sent me inside. I knew that he was thinking about me, and I did not think I was going to like his decision. He was withdrawing from me. I could feel a painful emptiness beginning to spread through me.

And I knew. I knew what he was planning to do.

A flash of panic swept through me, leaving me feeling flushed and nauseous. I was about to die. If he wanted to kill me, there was nothing that I could do to stop him. He was so much more powerful than me. He was so much more knowledgeable than me. He was…

He was seventeen too. He definitely knew more dark magic than I did, but was he really that much more powerful? Hadn't I had more success with the Dominus than him? Hadn't I learned it just as quickly?

Voldemort of my time had been my better. Tom Riddle was…

Tom Riddle would have to work for it if he wanted to kill me.

Calm settled over me, sweeping away my fear. Slytherin now or not, I would face Tom Riddle with Gryffindor Courage, and if I died, I would die on my feet.

I stood in the kitchen and drew my wand, pointing it toward the door just as it began to open.

"Hello, darling," I said flatly as he stepped inside, his wand trained on me.

Cold, dispassionate eyes evaluated me.

* * *

**Tom's POV**

I knew that I had made the right decision. It was simple logic after all. Despite the best intentions of my future self, Hermione was too dangerous. To me. I could not have her disrupting my plans. Not when I was so close. I had just one more year of Hogwarts, and everything was coming together exactly as I'd planned.

Hermione may be an asset, but her potential as a liability was greater. Even if she didn't turn against me, the affect that she was having on me could not be ignored. Casting the Crucio on her had been painful. No doubt it would be extremely painful to kill her. It would be best to have done with it quickly then. The Killing Curse.

"Hello, darling," I heard as I opened the door.

I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting to find when I went inside. Her cooking dinner, perhaps. I had certainly not expected to see her looking at me with perfect calm, her wand pointed at _me_, like she knew exactly what I was planning to do.

I studied her eyes for a moment, calm and resigned, but burning with that fire that made her so exceptional. Oh yes. She knew exactly what I was planning. Perhaps she had reasoned it out or perhaps our bond had given me away, but she knew.

She _knew_. She had her wand. She could have disapparated. Why hadn't she?

"Why didn't you flee?" I found myself asking. I really should have just killed her, but I didn't like mysteries that I couldn't solve. If she was dead, I'd likely never have my answer.

"Where would I go, Tom?" she asked simply.

"Anywhere else seems safer," I reasoned.

The fire in her eyes flickered and died. She lowered her wand to her side. "It takes more than survival to live," she said quietly.

"You don't want to live without me," I realized.

She didn't deny it.

Well, that was… beautiful. She would allow me to kill her just because she couldn't bear the thought of life without me. Perhaps I had underestimated my future self. I had turned my enemy into… _this_. Even killing my father, opening the Chamber of Secrets, creating my first horcrux… None of those had given me the feeling of triumph that filled me now. A woman who had sworn to destroy me or die trying was now willing to die _for _me. To not only defeat an enemy, but destroy one on such a level. _This _was victory.

Of course, whether or not she wanted to live without me, she'd been prepared to fight me a moment ago. How long would it be before she regained enough of her spirit to live without me? To maybe even challenge me outright? No, I wouldn't lose this sweet victory.

"Hermione, you really are the most fascinating witch I've ever met," I told her sincerely. For some reason, I wanted her to know that – to know that I'd appreciated her. Before, "_Avada Kedavra_," I sent right for her heart.

I had resigned myself to watching her body collapse as the curse connected, so I found myself rarely astonished when that didn't happen.

Her wand darted up with almost preternatural speed, the silently cast counter springing up in front of my curse. Most amazingly though, it actually stopped the curse cold. That shouldn't have been possible. The Killing Curse could not be blocked.

That was _not_ possible.

"How?" I heard myself say as she stared at me, the fire back in her eyes though she made no move to retaliate.

"I have spent half my life fighting you, Tom," she growled at me. "Do you really think that I wouldn't find a counter to your signature curse?"

Honestly, I hadn't. I hadn't thought the _Avada Kedavra_ _could _be countered. Part of me wanted to kill her and send that counter to the grave with her. Most of me really wanted to learn it. Both were immaterial at the moment.

My use of that curse had not brought the fire back to her eyes. I hadn't given her enough warning for her to decide that she wanted to fight me. She'd been prepared to fight the entire time. She'd… I tasted bile. _She _tricked _me into thinking she'd go quietly!_

Tricked.

_Me_.

Oh, how I wanted to kill her. I wanted to make it slow. I didn't care if it hurt me as well. I wanted to inflict such agony that her very soul shattered under the strain. I wanted to permanently snuff out that fire that had given her the _gall_ to lie to me.

I wanted to destroy her utterly.

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

Tom Riddle's anger was… breathtaking. The floor itself trembled, the window panes rattled, and the flames of the candles in the room tripled in height. The air itself crackled with the force of his barely restrained magic. Though I knew that I was the source of his anger after blocking that curse, I could feel no fear. The power infused in the air wrapped around me like the tender embrace of a lover, penetrating and consuming me, devouring and empowering me.

My magic rose in response. The tremble became a rumble, glass shattered, flames blazed to dangerous heights. The air seemed too thick to breathe, but air itself had become a necessity of the mundane. Beneath us.

Magic.

His.

Mine.

_Ours_.

It burned my skin and brought it to life as never before. I was _alive_! Truly alive, as I had never imagined.

Distantly, I was aware of the shrill cry of more glass destroyed. The clattering of books and other items hitting the floor as the room continued to shake.

Tom's skin shone brilliantly in the eerie light, and as I watched, his eyes began to shine with an inner light. Crimson luminescence invaded first his pupils, spreading, growing, intensifying until there was naught in those amazing orbs but flame.

Blood.

_Power_.

My skin was blazing. I could not take my eyes from his, but if I had, I was certain I'd have found literal flame dancing its way across my flesh.

My forgotten wand slipped from my fingers and I did not care. There was only one thing in the world that mattered. One person. One entity.

I did not register movement, but we were together then. His skin. Mine. Our bodies were more akin to a single entity than two separate. I knew not where I ended and he began. Neither did I care.

Agony. Bliss. Wonder. Ecstasy. Need and fulfillment. I was dying of thirst until he quenched it. I was starving until he fed me. I was lost until he found me. There no longer existed such petty concerns as morality or malevolence. There was no future. There was no past. There was only now.

There was only us.

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**The next chapter, I believe will be their return to Hogwarts, and the inception of a new dynamic between them.**

**For those of you waiting on "When A Phoenix Cries", I promise that I'm almost done with the next chapters, but I've been having a hard time getting them just right. I will have them up soon, Merlin willing.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Okay. Chapter 6. And in a timely manner. :-D This one was fun to write. I hope it's as much fun to read.

**BTW:** I used canon names where I could find them. The rest, I made up. Please don't judge my choices.

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**In This Chapter:** Tom's gifts, and the Hogwarts Express! Enjoy!

* * *

**Hermione's POV**

I woke from a dream that I could not recall. There was a sense of urgency left in its wake that made me think I ought to remember it. That maybe it was even important. I shook it off without much difficulty as my eyes fell to the man next to me. I'd never really given much credence to analyzing dreams. Or anything else about divination.

I looked into Tom's beautiful dark eyes and he looked back into mine. We didn't speak. There was no need. After a moment, his hand slid up to the back of my neck and drew my face to his. The slow kiss deepened gradually. There was heat to it, but no real urgency. It was only dawn after all, and we were already packed. We had hours.

His hand left my neck and I shivered slightly as he drew the blanket off me, exposing my completely naked skin to the chilly air. A few seconds more, and he gently but firmly pushed me away from him, lowering his eyes to my body.

I shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the temperature this time. There was something about the way that he looked at me when I was naked that was so incredibly sensual, it may as well have been a full-body caress. No hint of emotion stained his beautiful face, but his eyes burned with the arousal that I could feel building inside him. I couldn't help but squirm slightly, rubbing my thighs together in an almost desperate attempt to relieve some small bit of the mounting desire he was able to instill in me with nothing but his gaze.

I caught the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched me and I knew he was feeling my need as well. This was foreplay as much as anything for us as the tension between us grew to almost unbearable levels.

Just when I was beginning to wonder how much longer I'd survive this game, one hand tangled in my curls, urging me gently but firmly toward his waist. Though I badly wanted my own relief, I felt a thrill of excitement at his silent command. He'd only allowed me to do this a few times, and I absolutely loved it.

I pushed the blanket away to expose the glorious beauty that was Tom Riddle in the nude, and allowed him to direct my mouth to the hot, hard, silken flesh that I was so eager to taste once more. I lapped slowly at the small puddle that had leaked from him in his excitement for our game, watching his eyes narrow slightly in response to my teasing. The way his desire burned, I knew that he loved it even though he'd not allowed his face to give him away yet.

Knowing that he would soon lose patience and force me if I tarried much longer, I took him slowly, gently into my mouth, watching his eyes all the while. This was my own personal game, and I didn't even need him to touch me to get off on it. Watching Tom Riddle slowly lose his composure and surrender to my will was a rare and delicious treat. I suspected that such was why he hadn't allowed this more often. It gave me too much power over him.

It took several minutes of my deliberate ministrations, before the effects began to leak through his careful mask, and I moaned in pleasure as his eyes became lidded. His heavy breathing hitched in response to the sound and his hips bucked slightly, forcing him into the back of my throat. I resolutely withheld the urge to gag and forced him even deeper until my lips met the curls at the base of his cock.

"Fuck, Hermione," he groaned, his eyes at last rolling back.

He jerked slightly again and the need to gag won out.

_Damn it. So close._

My throat contracted around him and both of his hands suddenly buried themselves in my hair, preventing me from withdrawing. A few seconds more and I felt him pumping his release down my throat.

It felt like hours before he'd finally emptied himself and his hands left my head.

I drew away quickly, reflexively heaving a couple more times while I closed my eyes and willed my last meal to stay put. Though, honestly, part of me wanted to vomit all over him. He'd probably _Crucio_ me, but it would be worth it just to see his face.

When I was sure that I was under control, I climbed off the bed and pulled on my dressing robe. Strangely, our morning routine had become somewhat comforting to me. But then, I'd always been more comfortable on a predictable, stable schedule. So, I cast a few wandless cleansing charms on my mouth and body. A couple more charms detangled my hair and arranged it into a simple tie at my neck.

One of the interesting things that we'd noticed since that fateful day two weeks passed was that wandless magic had become much easier. When we were near each other. The pain of separation, on the other hand, had become even more difficult to deal with. I wasn't exactly sure what had happened that day, and I didn't think Tom was either – though he'd never directly admit to that, of course.

Our souls had already bonded, but it seemed to me that our magic had followed suit that day. I didn't even know if there was a term for what we were to each other now. Far too much of the time, I didn't really care.

Things would change today, I thought for the thousandth time while I fixed our breakfast. Tom wandered into the bathroom, and I heard the shower start. No matter how much he hated most things muggle, Tom had a weakness for the feel of hot water running over his naked body. This, he'd confessed to me when he'd allowed me to join him in the shower for the first time. Well, he hadn't actually come out and said it, obviously, but I'd been able to feel the truth of it the second that water began hitting his body.

Yes, I had been dreading this day almost since my arrival in 1944. While part of me was thrilled at the prospect of returning to Hogwarts, most of me grieved for the end of these last five weeks. True, there had been some significant ups and downs, such as Tom trying to kill me, but there was also a kind of peace here in this cottage. It was just the two of us, all the time. We didn't talk a lot, but the sex was spectacular. Well, I didn't really have anything to compare it against, but it was difficult to imagine anything superseding what we had.

And yes, he seemed to expect me to cook and clean for him like a house elf of whom he was slightly fond, but I suspected that I may be reading into that. After all, I was in the forties. He was probably treating me more like a wife than a house elf in his estimation. I supposed I should take that as a compliment. They were rare enough from Tom that I'd take them where I could. Even if it meant I may be inventing them.

There were good points apart from the sex, though, even if I'd had some difficulty admitting it to myself in the beginning. Tom's mind thrilled me when it was turned toward academics, even the _darker _academics that he preferred. He brought home the most wonderful books. I never asked where he got them, as I was quite certain that I did not want to know where one such as Tom would acquire an ancient tome on blood magic or curses so brilliant that I practically drooled at reading them despite their dark, often heinous purposes.

We would sit together and read for hours some evenings, and this is when most of our conversation occurred. We discussed what we read and we discussed ways to modify the spells to different applications. Generally, I could almost forget how he would likely one day employ these spells.

On days when he didn't work, we'd frequently settle down beneath that gnarled old oak and practice spells. This, I enjoyed perhaps more than anything else. This was when Tom was most relaxed. Well, apart from during sex. He often smiled and occasionally even laughed. And these emotions matched what I felt inside him. The part of me that was hopelessly bound to him thrilled at knowing that Tom could relax like that around me. I was even a little smug about it as I highly suspected that I was the only person in the world with whom Tom had ever truly been himself. Or perhaps ever would.

But everything was going to change now. No longer would it be merely Tom and I. I had a pretty good idea of what Tom was like at Hogwarts thanks to the memories of his elder self. I knew the subtle manipulations and maneuverings that would soon become our life. And I had no idea if it would ever end. I didn't know if we'd ever be just Tom and Hermione again.

I settled Tom's eggs on a plate separate from his pancakes as he did not like the two to touch, and cast a stasis spell – wandlessly – to keep it all warm until he was ready to eat. By the sounds now coming from the bathroom, he'd be out momentarily.

While I waited, I shrugged out of my dressing gown and stepped into the dress that he'd given me specifically for today. It was a beautiful emerald green dress that fell to just below my knees and accented my curves in such a way to make me look sexy and still like a proper 1940's woman. Just like Tom always preferred to look. Sexy, but oh so proper.

I was just fixing my hair into soft waves when Tom stepped out of the bathroom. Despite the fact that I'd been living with him for more than a month and that we generally had sex twice a day, my mouth _still _went dry at the sight of him. It was truly unfair that anyone should be so beautiful.

"These will go with the dress," he offered matter-of-factly, opening his palm to me to reveal a pair of silver hair combs stylized with a snake in a kind of infinity shape between the two large emeralds adorning each.

I swallowed hard as I started fixing the sides of my hair back away from my face, but could not resist asking, "There's no chance that anyone at school might be… missing these, is there?"

The side of his mouth turned up slightly as I felt his amusement, "Do not fear, my sweet. I paid for these." He chuckled at my incredulity. "I did not say the _money_ was mine."

I nodded. That made sense then.

"There's something else I would like for you to wear," he added, drawing my attention away from the mirror in which I had been studying the play of light through the emeralds.

I couldn't make out what he was holding in his hand, but I allowed him to place it in my palm.

He moved his hand and I nearly dropped it when I saw what it was.

A ring. A platinum band with a tiny snake curled around the base of a rather large diamond. An _engagement _ring, I was certain.

"Are you proposing?" I asked, my heart fluttering with the almost suffocating collision of emotions suddenly filling me.

The corner of his mouth curled again, though I sensed more satisfaction than amusement. "You could call it that," he allowed. "You are mine, Hermione," he said very sternly, well maybe threateningly would be more accurate. "I would have the world know that you belong to me. We'll get married after graduation."

I nodded thoughtfully. Despite my surprise at his abrupt "proposal", it wasn't like I hadn't been prepared for the eventuality that he and I would marry. I actually preferred it to the alternative. There was no doubt about it; I was stuck with Tom Riddle. Either I'd be at his side – and half a step behind – as his wife, or I'd be at his feet as his pet. Or his "whore", as he'd so graciously dubbed me that first day. Yes, I much preferred to be his wife.

Still, announcing our intentions so openly right now would cause complications. Particularly with his pureblood supremist groupies, but perhaps with Dumbledore as well. After a moment of thought, I decided that arguing either point would be useless. It was clearly important to Tom to officially lay claim to me right now, even if it meant dealing with the repercussions later. And I was certain that he'd considered said repercussions at length already. He was at least as intelligent as I was, and very, very careful.

With a small sigh of resignation, I slipped the ring onto my finger. I didn't have to look up to know that he was smiling. I could feel his smug satisfaction and possessiveness quite clearly.

He took my hand in his so gently, I may have been made of glass in his eye, and turned it slightly so that the light reflected from the ring. My ring.

"Does it do anything besides look pretty?" I inquired. I was very nearly a hundred percent certain that he hadn't given me a ring that he expected me to wear at all times without putting some form of enchantment into it.

I felt a brief flicker of surprise from him, and then amused satisfaction. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to my temple before whispering, "You shall make a fine wife for Lord Voldemort, my sweet, but you sometimes ask too many questions." With that, he drew away from me and paced briskly over to the table to eat his breakfast.

After a moment's pause, I followed.

* * *

Tom wanted to lead our apparation to platform 9 ¾ and I didn't argue. I was pretty sure that it was a thing refined gentlemen did for their women in the 1940's. Like muggle men that insisted on driving. Considering that I knew that platform would be packed with other students and their families, I decided not to make an issue of it and challenge his pride.

Merlin knew Tom's pride was of fierce importance to him. I couldn't completely fault him on that. Growing up as he had, he'd not had much more than his pride. And at Hogwarts, he'd worked very hard to build his reputation. Oh yes, this was going to be a very interesting balancing act. As his fiancé, I needed to preserve his pride without letting myself be seen as his pet.

I didn't think he was quite ready to hear it yet, but I had no intention at all of belonging to him unless he belonged to me in return. At Hogwarts, among his future followers and enemies alike, it would be very important for me to draw the metaphorical line in the sand before their preconceptions pulled me into the lie so deeply I may never find my way out.

My arm still linked through Tom's we started down the platform and I knew that he was portraying the same indifference to everyone and everything around us that I was. You'd almost think we'd rehearsed it. Still, even with my chin firmly parallel to the floor and my eyes straight ahead, I couldn't miss the stares we received. Or the way that a hush seemed to precede us and a quiet buzz of voices followed us.

Tom's reputation was evidently enough that no one attempted to impede us or speak to us. We boarded the train, him offering his hand to aid my ascent like the perfect gentleman. I heard more than one breathy sigh behind us, but I chose to ignore that. He led me to a vacant compartment and we settled inside.

I couldn't help but chuckle when we were alone. "You really have them all fooled, don't you?"

He shrugged in an approximation of modesty that may have been convincing had I not been able to feel how utterly false it was.

"You are a uniquely terrifying man, Tom Riddle," I told him quite sincerely.

A small smile came to his lips and I could feel him practically preening beneath my compliment as he backed me slowly up against the window. One of his hands cupped my jaw and the other settled on my waist as he kissed me softly. "You say the sweetest things," he murmured against my lips.

I really shouldn't have, but I couldn't help but smile.

I heard the compartment door open on the other side of Tom and he placed one more soft kiss on my lips before turning around and stepping aside enough that I could see who'd entered.

Or, who had considered entering. A young man stood in the doorway, looking between Tom and me with wide eyes like he wasn't certain if he shouldn't leave. By his white-blond hair and silvery eyes, I had no doubt that I was looking at Draco's grandfather. And the lumbering figure behind him had to be an Avery. Tom's Knights.

"Come in," Tom said, his manner almost bored

Malfoy bowed it head slightly to Tom as he stepped inside, his eyes darting to me continuously, the questions in them plain. Who was I? How much did I know? And judging by the leer Avery brought with him, were they allowed to touch?

I watched them coolly and said nothing.

Three more young men filed in close behind. Malfoy muttered a minor expansion charm to widen the bench along one side of the compartment so that all five could crowd onto it. As he hadn't expanded the entire compartment but only that one bench, the compartment took on a strange trapezoidal feel that I forced myself to ignore before it could bother me.

Once everyone was inside, Tom quickly threw up silencing and locking wards, showing off his wandless magic with a studied indifference before he sat down. I took my seat at his side and watched with some small satisfaction as five sets of eyes widened at the simple fact that I was sitting next to Tom and not getting yelled at or cursed.

"Gentleman," Tom said, his voice commanding utmost attention despite the fact that it was quiet and fairly amiable. It was impressive what he was able to do with a single word. "I would like you all to meet, Miss Hermione Granger, a transfer student from Beauxbatons. She has been sorted into Slytherin."

The young men looked at me again, curious and assessing.

Nott was the first to speak, "The name Granger doesn't sound familiar," he posed.

I was not surprised that this had come up so quickly. It was a fact that couldn't be avoided. Even if we'd changed my name, the pureblood families were so intermarried that it would not take long for one or more of the Slytherins to discover that my heritage was a lie. It was better to be a mudblood than to invite the scrutiny that would arise from that lie being discovered.

"It wouldn't," Tom agreed simply, "as she is a mudblood."

Malfoy's jaw dropped, all eyes widened, and every one of them now looked at me with disdain.

I weathered their disapproval silently, meeting their eyes coolly.

"A mudblood in Slytherin?!" Nott exclaimed. It was already becoming apparent that he was the most brazen of this bunch, at least in Tom's presence. A favorite, perhaps.

Tom smiled just slightly, "Oh, she has earned it." He looked at me, his expression almost fond, which was a bit surprising. I hadn't fully expected him to let anyone else know that he actually liked me.

"You approve of this, sir?" Nott asked, his mouth twisted as though he tasted something foul.

Tom's eyes met mine and I felt his consideration, his approval, his… affection. That last part was new. Something I'd only really felt from him since the night our magic had come together. I liked it very much. "I do," he said at last, then turned his eyes back to them, "as will all of you." He returned to his feet. "Now, I must attend to my head boy duties." He leaned down to press a chaste kiss to my forehead before starting toward the door. He dropped the wards with a flick of his wrist and turned hard eyes on his Knights. "Be nice to my fiancé," he commanded before disappearing.

While the boys were still gaping over Tom's last word, I returned the wards Tom had removed with a casual swish of my hand, and made an effort to ignore the slowly growing ache in my chest that was the result of his absence even though he was only walking to the front of the train.

"You're from France?" Nott questioned, his tone rather belligerent.

"That's right," I nodded.

"Because you sound English."

"I spent my early childhood in England," I explained.

"How long have you known Tom?"

"Most of the summer," I embellished slightly.

"And you're already engaged to marry him?" he asked doubtfully.

"Do you expect that Tom was lying or that he is mistaken?" I wondered.

His cheeks reddened slightly at that. "It's you I don't trust," he spat.

"I see," I nodded significantly. "Tell me, then, do you doubt Tom's judgment or his intelligence? His power? Perhaps I have him under the Imperius Curse?"

He pulled in a sharp breath at my insinuation.

"I admit, I'm rather disappointed," I went on. "Tom seems to think somewhat highly of you. I suspect he may also be disappointed to discover that you think so little of him."

"I never said that!" Nott snapped, desperation poorly concealed in his eyes.

This really was quite a bit easier than I'd thought it would be. I supposed after spending the better part of a year with Voldemort in my time and this one, dealing with these lesser Slytherins was a bit of a laugh in comparison. I'd still have to keep my guard up, but this was well within my abilities.

"The only thing that concerns me is that the noble house of Slytherin has been muddied with your foul blood!" he went on.

Despite myself, I felt my anger stir. I'd expected such distaste, even disgust from my _fellow _Slytherins, but that didn't make it any more pleasant to hear. "The sorting hat placed me in the house of Slytherin, Nott," I said, mildly surprised at how casual my voice sounded. "The only living heir of Salazar Slytherin himself has accepted me. Yet still you question my right to belong. I am honestly surprised. I had heard that your family was known for intelligence… Perhaps it skipped a generation?"

With the way I was goading him, I was not surprised when his wand appeared in his hand. And I was ready for it. I flicked my wand out of my sleeve with a silent _expelliarmus _and caught his wand in my free hand before a nonverbal _incarcerous_ slammed the impertinent boy back in his seat and bound him thoroughly.

My eyes flicked to the others, who were watching me warily, but not daring to reach for wands.

I felt Tom approaching again.

"Is anyone else foolish enough to think that Tom would choose me were I not worthy?" I inquired.

Silence and averted eyes answered me.

I nodded, "It seems that this group is not entirely devoid of intelligence then."

The wards were disabled a moment later and the compartment door slid open. I felt Tom's relief mirror my own at his return, but he paused briefly to take in the scene before he stepped inside to close the door and return the wards. His eyes touched on each of his Knights before settling on Nott for a moment, then flashing to his wand in my hand.

Everyone else in the room seemed to be holding their collective breath as they waited for his reaction. "What happened?" he finally asked, of no one in particular.

His Knights seemed too terrified to speak. After a moment, Tom's eyes fell on me.

"We were discussing my right to be a Slytherin and his intelligence," I offered as though I was utterly unaware of the tension in the room. I would have these people see that I was above them in Tom's eyes. "He drew his wand on me."

I watched his eyes while he filled in the holes in my story. Truly, they were so predictable that I was certain he had no difficulty doing it.

After just a moment, he reclaimed his seat at my side. He waved a hand toward Nott and the ropes fell away before vanishing. He then held out his hand and I deposited the pilfered wand in it. "I admit," he said after a very pregnant silence, "I am tempted to punish you for pointing a wand at my fiancé." His tone was thoughtful. I couldn't feel any emotion from him except for a vague sense of pleasure.

I was paying very careful attention to everything he was portraying. Despite having ample time, we'd never actually discussed how we would address his Knights and the other students and teachers regarding our relationship. He'd never told me if I would be presented as the love of his life, a prize he had claimed, or simply someone he'd bullied into do his bidding "till death parted us". It was possible that he wanted to assess the situation as well as my performance before committing to an approach, but I found it more likely that he'd been undecided himself.

So I watched him to determine what he'd decided and to what degree I would play along. So far, I was appreciating his approach.

"Before I make a decision though… Come here, Nott."

The man in question rose fairly steadily, though I could see that his hands were shaking before he clenched them into fists at his sides. When he stood in front of Tom, he dropped down to one knee, sitting on his heel, and bowed his head.

"Look at me," Tom commanded quietly.

The instant that their eyes met, Nott started violently and every muscle went taut. Tom had just entered his mind with a wandless Legilimens, I gathered, and he was not being particularly gentle about it.

I imagined that he was watching the scene that had played out in his absence, and I couldn't help but feel pleasure as Tom's satisfaction rose rapidly, accompanied by that peculiar brand of affection that I knew belonged to me.

When he broke eye contact, he leaned back in his seat and waved a dismissive hand at Nott, causing the larger man to all but fall back to his seat just a meter away from where he'd been kneeling.

"Your doubts do not surprise me, Nott," Tom pronounced at last. There was no other way to describe that but a pronouncement considering his tone, expression, and body language. Here, in this company, I could see more of Lord Voldemort in him than I ever had before.

_Why, oh why does that not bother me more?_

"Such doubts must be laid to rest," he went on. Something in the way he said that made it sound like a death threat.

While he spoke, I made a fierce effort to control my emotions, lest they give away the fact that I did indeed have a conscience. It wasn't in as good a shape as it used to be, but it was still very much alive. It was not something that would impress anyone in this company, least of all Tom. He knew about my respect for life, I was aware of the fact that he saw it as a flaw that I needed to overcome.

So I wrapped up my feelings of concern for the man who'd not long ago considered cursing me. I made them into a ball and added a good portion of my humanity before tucking it away into a small corner of my mind where it would not trouble me. Then, I drew on my anger at Nott's opinion of me and my general distaste for all five of them and allowed that a bit closer to the surface. Allowed it to touch my eyes while I looked at Nott.

"For that reason," Tom was going on, "I have decided not to punish you."

Nott relaxed marginally.

"Hermione," Tom said, turning toward me at last. "As you were the one that he insulted, I'll leave the punishment up to you."

I looked into his eyes as he said that and I refrained from allowing my displeasure to show. He'd put me in quite a spot with that. I could not afford to appear weak now. Whatever I chose to do was going to set a precedent for who I was as far as these five men were concerned. Still, by leaving it up to me, he'd also stated very clearly to all of them that I was not just another of his followers. I was something more.

Pleasure and frustration warred within me, but I banished them both. I could not make this decision emotionally. I had to think rationally.

After holding Tom's eyes for several seconds, I turned to look at the Knights. I assessed each of them in turn before reaching Nott. I could tell that they were all waiting nervously to see what I would do. Nott looked almost defiant, as though he didn't think I had it in me to do anything truly unpleasant.

I twirled my wand in my fingers absently while I stared Nott down, running my options through my mind. I assumed that Tom probably would have had him writhing under the Cruciatus if he'd decided to "punish" him. I'd never actually cast the Cruciatus on a human being before, but I figured that I could do it. I had more than enough pent up rage to summon the proper desire to bring pain. Particularly to these lot.

That was a bit predictable though, and I was trying to prove that I belonged in Slytherin. Blunt force would not be my best option.

And then it hit me.

I entered his mind with a silent Dominus, working the wand movements into the twirling of my wand so that it would not be apparent that I'd cast a spell at all. The idiot had been so focused on defiantly staring me down that entering his mind was pitifully simple.

I rummaged my way through his mind with a light touch, learning about this man who seemed likely to be my largest retractor among those close to Tom. Finally, I found something that I could use. It was mean. So mean that I almost dismissed it immediately. But it was either this or the Cruciatus, and this would hold with the image I wished to portray considerably better than causing mere physical pain.

This moment was too important to let my conscience get in the way. So I added my misgivings to that dense ball of emotion that I was ignoring, and I stitched together a new memory for him, built of his own memories and augmented with mine.

* * *

**Hadwin Nott's POV**

I was running. I knew that I couldn't escape, but my fear was such that neither could I stop trying. The dark forest seemed to go on forever in every direction. Sound was muted, unreal. The forest was a still as death, and much more foreboding.

My lungs ached, my legs threatened to give out, but I could not stop running. I had to escape. I couldn't escape. I was going to die. It was going to catch me.

And then it happened. My foot snagged on something and I tripped. Tumbling forward as though moving in slow motion, I watched the ground rise up beneath me. I felt the impact. Sharp. Hard. Painful.

I couldn't get enough air. It had to be right on top of me. I spun onto my back so that I could at least see it coming, pushing myself further back until I felt the solidity of a tree preventing my escape.

No. NO!

And then it was there.

Darkness. Utter. Complete. Unforgiving. Darkness. The darkness of death. It loomed before me like it was drinking in all the light of the world.

My heart seized. My lungs froze. Supreme terror held me in an icy fist from which there was no escape. I wanted to resign myself to my imminent fate and just give up. Anything to make this terrible fear end, but I could not.

The darkness closed on me rapidly, but yet it seemed to take ages. Finally, it was the only thing I could see. The only thing I could feel. The only thing real in the entire world.

And then something appeared within. A glow of red that resolved into eyes, and very, very slowly, the faint outline of a face manifested before mine. Its mouth opened and I cringed away from a sudden, terrible heat from the flames that burned inside that maw.

It spoke. The voice was familiar and foreign. It was a whisper of wind. A deafening thunder. It was the reverberation of agony within my body. My mind. It was everywhere and nowhere. Everything and nothing.

"Challenge me again, Hadwin," it said, "and your nightmares become real."

* * *

**Tom's POV**

I wouldn't have suggested that Hermione choose Nott's punishment if I hadn't thought that she would deliver a proper one. If she appeared weak now, I would as well. That could be dealt with, of course, but not without destroying any chance Hermione may have of maintaining dignity among my followers.

I could tell that she understood the significance when she gazed into my eyes. Her countenance did not appear affected, but I could feel her emotions swirling before she banished them, one at a time. My witch truly was amazing in her own way.

When I felt the last of her misgivings drain away, I expected her to _Crucio_ Nott's impertinent hide on the spot. It would have been a good demonstration of the fact that she was powerful, ruthless, and that she was most definitely not afraid to use Unforgiveables, even for such a slight. It would have served as a fitting introduction of my future wife to my followers.

As she stared at Nott, however, making no move, I began to feel concerned that she wouldn't be able to do it. When I felt her conscience stirring once more, I was nearly convinced that she was about to disappoint me.

Then I noticed that the way she twirled her wand changed slightly, spinning in a significant way.

I hid a fierce smile as I understood what she was doing. Clever witch. I just hoped that she would discover a suitable punishment in his mind.

For a few minutes, the two of them seemed to merely be staring at each other whilst the rest of my Knights shifted their gazes between the two of them and me, clearly waiting for something to happen.

At last, Nott's eyes glazed and his mouth fell open for a moment, then he blinked rapidly and I watched him come back to himself. Hermione reclined a bit in her seat, staring at Nott, her face completely blank.

Interestingly, Nott began to tremble uncontrollably. His breathing was ragged, and tears fell down his face. After a long moment, he bowed his head deeply to Hermione. "My ap-apolog-gies, m-my lady," he stuttered quietly.

I allowed a small smile to touch my lips. I'd figure out exactly what she'd done later. For now, I didn't want to ruin the mood. While Nott struggled to control himself, the rest of my Knights were looking at Hermione with fear in their eyes.

I was very glad I hadn't killed her.

* * *

**Okay, we didn't quite make it to Hogwarts, but we're getting there. Please review. Reading your thoughts is the reward the keeps me updating. :-D**


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